


Rufescent

by immistermercury



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Referenced prostitution, Strangers to Lovers, don't you know freddie exploits it for money, except being gay is dangerous, freddie is a grace/liz crossover, freddie just wants work, gratuitous use of the word sir, i forgot to mention this is set in 1919, if you haven't watched it, if you've watched it, in this house we care about respect, it's only loosely based on it tbh, it's the queen-peaky blinders crossover no one needed, jim is a gangster boss, jim is tommy shelby, read it as a mafia au, season 2 the move to london, we also love career progression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: You're one microscopic part of his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand.





	1. Garrison's

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched too much Peaky Blinders and I needed to write this - hopefully you'll find this fun!

Torn fabric supported the figure laying in the low lamplight of the bar; the armchairs were ripped and broken, gilded with silver hardware, and the dirty light staining the room came from fixtures of solid gold. He lay back, springs and cushions propping up bruises and gunshot wounds, all long healed by this moment. The cigarettes he smoked were American, vaguely perfumed, expensive and imported by the tonne, packed tightly in old leather suitcases; the whiskey he drank was Irish, a taste of home, discreet in its black bottles, neither supporting the union nor against it.

The bar was his, and the function room next door was his, and the factory beyond that was his, and the blacksmiths beyond that was his: the whole street was his, and the street over, and the street beyond that, the whole quarter of the city working, living and breathing under his name, his power, his jurisdiction. The rent was miserly, but it built quickly enough into a fund to sustain the business, the family business, to pay enough people at the snap of his fingers without sacrificing the money to uphold himself and his own, strict standards. 

He twisted the ring in his nose and sat forward, eyes glazing over the hustle of the bar, the girls behind the counter, barely contained in scanty little dresses, the betting in the corner, illegal bookmakers with illegal money, the click of the door with subtle entrances and exits. He knocked back the whiskey in his glass and made to stand, pausing momentarily when a man came before him.

He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, Romani skin for sure. He wore a white shirt, a waistcoat, a little too short and a little too tight to be formal businesswear in the same manner that Jim wore; it accentuated the hard lines of the muscles in his forearms, arms used to manual labour, a life of graft and work.

Jim raised an eyebrow and lay back in his seat, smirking. “Can I help you?”

“Freddie Bulsara.” He held out his hand, but refused to be dismayed when Jim refused to take it. “I’m looking for work.”

“Aren’t we all?” Jim flipped open his cigarette case and took one from the silver, lighting it with the back of a business card. “I’m not interested.”

“I want to work in your bar.” Freddie crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Jim was drawn to the movement, to the angry scuffs on the end of his shoes, yet another indication that this man was nowhere near the level of polish that his business required. 

“You’re too pretty.” Jim said idly, and it wasn’t a lie: he really was, dark features and red lips, a large tattoo over the back of his hand, gold earrings and bracelets and rings to show off his status in the community. “It’s not going to happen, sweetheart. You’ve no experience.”

“Fuck off.” Freddie said boldly. “I’ve got experience in everything you need, and I’m not fucking pretty.”

Jim so rarely had people speaking back to him; this was a treat. “Experience in what, sweetheart? Marrying at the age of twelve?”

Freddie sucked on his lower lip in an attempt not to blow his chances of getting this job immediately. “I can tell you’re a Romani, stop trying to be superior.” He paused. “I worked in a bar from the age of nine, and I’ve also got experience in other types of work if you need that.”

Jim watched him slowly. “Other types of work?”

“Some manual labour, I can help unload shit from the dock to here. I also have experience in sex work.” Freddie shrugged, but he broke into a grin. “So if you support that niche, darling, I’ve got you covered.”

“What kind of business do you think this is?” Jim stood up; Freddie was enticed by the fire behind his eyes. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No idea.” Freddie smirked and glanced up at the man in front of him. “I was asking around and someone said that you might be happy to have some help from someone so skilled.” He dropped his voice a tone, low and sensual and a little bit seductive. Jim slammed him against the wall and Freddie laughed a little breathlessly. “A little insecure, darling?” He taunted. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Jim said darkly, gripping his throat and tilting his head up until they met eyes. “Or I’ll give you a reason to stop that smile.”

Freddie bared his teeth in a grin. “I’ll keep quiet if you give me a job.”

Jim growled but forced himself to calm down. “Get behind the bar.” He shoved him to the side. “You don’t so much as say _ yes sir, no sir, that’s two pence sir _without my fucking instruction, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie smiled over his shoulder and hopped over the bar, meeting Jim’s eyes as he called out a _ who’s next, please? _

* * *

Jim hated that he was as good as his word. 

Freddie had just enough sex appeal to keep _ men of alternative persuasions _happy; just enough batting of the eyelashes and bending lewdly for bottles behind the bar. Jim wasn’t blind to the pound notes being pushed over the bar, encouraging him to bend just a little lower, push his ass out a little more, accompany a drink with a touch of soft fingers. Freddie played up to it beautifully, but he kept his distance from the patrons, never promising enough to disappoint, keeping them forever on edge. Jim, guilty, enjoyed the little shows from across the bar, though he would always order from the hatch, never fighting among common men for Freddie’s attention for another bottle of whiskey that he owned in the first place.

The bar was livelier these days, more singing, more betting, more alcohol sold, more bathrooms locked; Freddie’s sleaze infected the room like a disease, but it was a profitable disease, and Jim couldn’t find it in his heart to complain. Today, though, business was a little slow, and Jim walked into the bar to see more workers than patrons.

“Bulsara.” He said dismissively. “Go home.”

“But sir-” Freddie started, and it was the first look of genuine worry that had come across his face since he’d started the job. 

“Home.” Jim threw his jacket over his shoulder. “I won’t ask you again.”

Freddie came out from behind the bar and bit his lip nervously. “Is there any other work you need doing, sir? Any deliveries?”

“Go home, Bulsara.” Jim’s patience was running thin, but Freddie refused to give up so easily.

“Please, sir?” He dropped his voice a little, suddenly sounding so vulnerable. “The rent you charge on my place is awfully high, sir.”

Jim looked him over once, twice, until he was starting to squirm from the attention. “Can you touch-type?”

Freddie couldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t, but he'd be damned if he wouldn’t give it a good go. “Of course, sir, I’ve been a secretary.”

“Grab your jacket. Come with me.” Jim ordered, picking up a bottle of scotch from the bar. “I’m going to dictate some letters, and you’ll type them out for me.”

Freddie wore a beautiful look of relief and he smiled sweetly at Jim, grabbing a grey jacket that matched his waistcoat. “Yes, sir.” He said obsequiously. 

“That’s the attitude.” Jim rested a hand on the small of his back and led him out of the bar. They went down a little side road, into a large building, and Freddie was immediately overwhelmed by the noise. It was a cacophony of shouting, swearing, coins hitting counters, brawling and arguing and yells of delight. “This is the bookies.” Jim told him. “This is where all the money in Birmingham drains to.”

Freddie looked up at him, suddenly feeling naive. “Do you bet?” He asked curiously. 

“Never.” Jim took him up a flight of stairs, above the noise, and grinned. “It’s a fool’s game.”

“But this is yours?” He questioned again.

“All mine.” Jim let himself feel a little smug at Freddie’s awed face. “It’s the biggest illegal bookies in Birmingham.”

“Why illegal?” Freddie was bombarding him with questions, but Jim suddenly found them endearing; it gave him the opportunity to show off to someone so new.

“We don’t have a license, but we do have horses.” Jim grinned. “You’re a Romani, you understand.”

“How did you know?” Freddie asked quickly.

“The rings? The gold? The fucking nose ring?” Jim laughed. “Your skin, your long hair, your eyes, your manner, your shoes. You knew I was one, and that’s how I knew you were one.”

Freddie let himself be sat down in a chair behind a typewriter and cracked his knuckles quickly. Jim clasped a hand over his eyes, long, slender fingers blocking his vision, and grinned. “Type this: who is also aware of the tremendous risk involved in faith – when he nevertheless makes the leap of faith – this is subjectivity at its height.”

Freddie laughed and set his fingers on the keys, trying his best to remember what he’d said and copy it faithfully. Jim watched the resulting product being formed, and smiled to himself; Freddie was nowhere near perfect, making mistakes in both punctuation and spelling and forgetting to start a new line when the typewriter clunked in recognition, but he relished somebody trying so hard to please him. “What do you consider to be faith, sir?” Freddie asked, his smile growing cocky.

“Faith?” Jim echoed.

“Yes, sir.” Freddie laughed. “What do you consider to be a leap of faith?”

“I think a leap of faith is coming to Birmingham and presenting yourself at my door, expecting to be given work.” Jim removed the hand from his eyes and rested both on his shoulders, standing behind him. “And pretending that you definitely know how to touch-type when you’re a sex worker.”

“I’m not anymore, sir.” Freddie said softly. “Only when I need to for the rent.”

“Don’t do that shit anymore.” Jim’s voice turned a little firmer. “I’ll find you extra work if you need it. Don’t whore yourself out.”

“It’s not whoring, sir.” Freddie said defensively. “I enjoy it, I just get paid for doing what I want.”

“And you don’t enjoy working behind my bar?” Jim deliberately baited him, just to see if he’d take it.

“Of course I do!” Freddie said quickly. “It’s more dignified, sir, and the men give me lots of tips.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Revenues have gone up in the last week. They’re enjoying the singing.” Jim walked around to the front of the table. “So, Bulsara-”

“Freddie, sir, please.” Freddie interjected.

“Bulsara.” Jim turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. “You’ll practice your typing on your days off, with me. I’m looking for a secretary that won’t drive me up the wall when I move to London.”

“London, sir?” Freddie asked. 

“You don’t have any qualms with moving, do you? No family to support, no little ones running around?” Jim looked him up and down, almost a little mocking.

“No, sir.” Freddie said quickly. “What days would you like me, sir?”

“That’s not how business works.” Jim leaned against the wall. “You’ll report to Garrison’s every day at four o’clock, and if I’m there, you’ll be working for me, and if I’m not, you’re serving whiskey for the evening.”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie said quietly. “Of course, sir.”

“My, you’re really getting the hang of the attitude.” Jim crossed his arms and grinned. “Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.”

Freddie blushed and glanced down at his hands, staying quiet; when he finally looked back up, Jim’s eyes were a little warmer. “Let’s start that first letter, Bulsara.”


	2. Old Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spontaneous trip.

Freddie had never been known for his servility; in his world, the best thing one could be was fierce, outspoken, daring and courageous. He lived in a world of travelling from one place to another, brawling as he went, fighting for his next meal, for his right to stay, for his right to exist. He stole food from farmers, conned men for their money, twisted his hips and beckoned his fingers to make up the money for the silk his mother wanted, or the chocolate that he would gorge himself on. 

Now, though, he wasn’t in India anymore, and the world didn’t work in that way. Sex appeal could get him so far, but it was money that would get him farther: he had to be tethered into a credible job, credible contacts, a weekly rent payment and money owed to the grocer and cold baths because he couldn’t afford the coal to heat the water.

So when Jim Hutton dropped his keys on the pavement, Freddie picked them up.

“Here you go, sir.” He handed them over, bowing his head a little in respect. He had only been passing by, and he knew he wasn’t to address him without having been addressed first, but Freddie got confused when duties conflicted.

“Bulsara.” Jim nodded at him and unlocked the front door. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you. I’ll be calling on you early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie clasped his hands together. “What time would you like me, sir?”

“I’ll come and collect you in the car. We’re travelling to London to look at accommodation.” He told him. “Bright and early, five o’clock.”

“I’ll come to you, sir.” He said quickly. Freddie wasn’t ashamed of his room, per say; he knew that others in Birmingham had it much worse than him. He also knew, however, that Jim expected a certain polish, a certain finesse from his workers, and that his room had peeling wallpaper and a standing tub of cold water in the corner that made his teeth chatter when he finally sat in it. 

Jim eyed him suspiciously. “I’ll come and collect you.” He repeated again. “Where shall I meet you?”

“On the heath, sir, that would be just fine.” Freddie said shyly. 

“Do you own property on the heath?” Jim asked, a faintly mocking tone to his voice. 

“No, sir.” Freddie said quietly. 

“No, Bulsara, I didn’t think you did.” Jim smirked. “So, why don’t you stop fucking around, and tell me where to meet you?”

“Summer Lane, sir.” Freddie said, a little shamefully. 

“It’s always nice to know when your secretary-to-be comes from the slums.” He said dismissively.

“I wouldn’t expect you to go there for me, sir, I’ll come some place more respectable.” Freddie said quickly. “Where would you like me?”

“Do you think I’m too above myself to go into the slums, Bulsara?” Jim arched an eyebrow. 

“No, sir.” Freddie admitted shyly.

“Good.” Jim stepped into his front door and waved him away. “Then I’ll meet you outside in the morning.”

* * *

Freddie tapped his foot on the ground as he waited in the cold morning light. He was wearing the same suit as he was the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that - he owned only one, and didn’t have the time or space to wash and dry it in between gruelling fourteen-hour shifts. He tugged his jacket over the spot of whiskey on his left sleeve, and pulled his overcoat sleeve over that; eventually, when he’d saved up enough spare pennies, he’d buy himself a second shirt. 

Back home, he’d worn bright colours of silk, blues and pinks and reds made into garments by his mother; his wardrobe burst with gold, silver, jewellery and lace. Here, though, he’d pawned as little as he could to buy a suit and an overcoat and had stolen his shoes from a child shining them in London city centre. 

“Bulsara.” Jim leaned out the window and grinned. “Get in the car.”

Freddie ran out over the cobblestones quickly, hauling himself up into the shaky body of the car. “Good morning, sir.” He said brightly.

“Good morning.” Jim nodded at him as he pressed his foot down on the gas. “This area is truly atrocious. How long does it take you to get to work?”

“Around an hour, sir.” He said quietly. “Sometimes longer if I have to avoid fights.”

“I’m going to need to bring you in closer. I need you on hand.” Jim looked him over quickly. “What rent do you pay at the moment?”

“Three shillings a week, sir.” Freddie told him. “And I earn four and a half.”

“I’m going to have to change some things.” Jim tilted his head back momentarily, hands staying firm on the steering wheel. “I’ve got a room in the house and Polly wants a lodger we can trust. A shilling a week, taken out of your wages. I’ll pay you half secretary and half bartender wages at six shillings per week.” He paused and glanced at Freddie. “How does that sound?”

“Very good, sir.” Freddie smiled at him, and Jim noticed the hint of a dimple in his right cheek. “Thank you, sir.” He paused momentarily and then glanced over at Jim. “I did get another offer of employment, sir, and I thought it best to make you aware.”

“Oh?” Jim forced himself to sound calm, but his blood was immediately afire with anger. “Was it a good offer?”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie said honestly. “But I didn’t accept it.”

“What was it?” He asked, voice a little sharper than usual.

“An exotic dancer. Sabini’s club, sir, in London. Eight shillings a week, and two days off.” Freddie explained dutifully.

“An exotic dancer?” Jim mocked. “What exactly does that mean?”

“You know, sir, dancing for the men.” He said, cheeks pinkening. “On tables and in laps and a little bit of my old business if they pay enough upfront.”

The idea left a bitter taste at the back of Jim’s throat. “And what did you tell him, Bulsara?”

“I told him that my current master wouldn’t release me to do such work in such a place, sir. I told him that my placement here is more dignified. I told him that I have a master, sir, and as such I don’t require a new one.” Freddie said, voice more confident.

“And this, Bulsara, is why I like you.” Jim smiled then, relaxing into the dusty leather seat. “You believe in loyalty and duty. You know that I wouldn’t sell you out in such a way.”

“Of course not, sir.” Freddie smiled. “Because we must look after one another.”

* * *

He woke to the rustle of cheap sheets around his waist, the rough drag of fabric over his warm skin, warmer than usual. They’d settled on this house, eight bedrooms, a full bathroom with working hot water; Freddie had taken a small, hot bath for the first time in weeks, and Jim had watched the colour on his cheeks blossom with something close to tenderness. Freddie was the first man that Jim didn’t feel so defensive around, the first man he didn’t feel so wary around: whether it was ethnicity, or his attitude, or just how sweet he’d been since joining the business, Jim didn’t mind. It was ironic, he considered, an acquaintance founded on blackmail, knowledge of Jim’s darkest secret, was blossoming into something close to fondness.

When he looked over in the bed to see the same man beside him, cheeks and lips dark with sleep, unkempt hair hanging in his face, his heart jumped a little. He remembered the whiskey they’d shared, and he remembered laying down while Freddie played a few notes on the piano, but he couldn’t remember much beyond the incessant pull towards sleep. He cursed himself and sat up quickly, but relaxed when he saw that he was still half dressed, boxers and unbuttoned shirt, Freddie in a similar state of disarray. He reached over to the counter and grabbed his cigarettes, lighting one with a complementary match.

Freddie yawned and opened an eye, looking enviously at the cigarette poised between his fingers. In the three weeks he’d been in England, he’d afforded one box of cigarettes, and he’d stretched them out until six days prior to the trip to London; he craved them, craved a small hit, something to take the edge off of the addiction. 

Jim watched his spying eye and wordlessly took the cigarette from between his lips, passing it to Freddie instead. Freddie smiled sleepily and took a drag, closing his eyes again as he let the nicotine hit him. “Good morning, sir.” Freddie said quietly.

“Good morning, Freddie.” Jim couldn’t help his smile. Freddie didn’t point out the address by his first name, but it filled him with warmth. 

“Did you sleep well, sir?” Freddie asked, looking ever-so-innocent and ever-so-naive in his crumpled dress shirt.

“Very well, thank you.” Jim yawned and took the cigarette back. “Can you put some tea on, Freddie?”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie yawned in response and climbed out of bed quickly, finding the old china teapot and taking it downstairs into the kitchen.

* * *

“What is he?” His mother asked as soon as Jim led him through the door. “How do I know I can trust him?”

Freddie smiled boldly and held out a hand for her. “I’m Freddie Bulsara, ma’am.” He introduced himself. “I’m Jim’s new secretary.”

She gripped his jaw in response and frowned. “Bulsara.” She echoed. “Of Bulsar?”

“In ancient times, yes, ma’am.” He answered in a soft voice, the right side of subservient, the tone he used all too often on Jim.

“Roma?” She asked again, looking deep into his eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.” Freddie echoed again. “I lived in Bihar.”

She let go of his jaw and Freddie stepped back a little, regaining his own space. “Why do we trust him?” His mother echoed, pulling a gun from her pocket and pointing it straight at him. “Why should he know where we live?”

“Because he doesn’t need a gun to swear his loyalty.” Jim’s voice was low and dry as he sat in a chair across from them. 

“How do I know that he’ll keep his mouth shut when he sees something he doesn’t like? How do I know that he won’t start crying when he sees his first man dead?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What says I don’t put this through his brain now?”

“You heard what he said.” Jim poured himself a drink. “He’s Romani. He’s a common whore and he knows better than to put his foot in things he doesn’t understand.” Freddie looked wounded and Jim shot him a wink from across the room. “He could’ve taken up a high-paying job with someone else, but he didn’t. He believes in loyalty to his own, and he knows that I’ll keep him safe.”

His mother arched an eyebrow over at him, but lowered the gun regardless. “Your secretary, Jim?”

“He does letters and errands, and works the bar when I don’t need him. He’s going to be our new lodger.” He paused at the look on her face and scowled. “Strictly business.”

“Treat this one better than the last.” She seemed overcome by a sudden wave of affection. “One Roma for another, we must look after one another. Especially-” She paused for effect and pinched his cheek. “Especially one that we can trust, darling.”


	3. Vardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double-edged sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, pretending that the idea of uploading this doesn't make me feel physically sick with anxiety even though it's not controversial in the slightest

He stood on his toes to try and see over the wall around the old house, hand to the glass of his bedroom window; it was cold to touch, and he was vaguely aware that he was shivering, but his suit was dripping dry and was of no use to him yet. The sound that echoed through the room made him curious, but he knew better than to venture out alone into the house on his first day. 

In truth, he felt out of his depth; he wasn’t used to such a way of life, a world of loyalty and bullets and blood. His life had been one of worldly pleasures, satisfaction of the body and as, of extension, the mind; soft hands on his body, silk wraps and the gentle rocking of a horse beneath him, fresh air and open land and freedom. The move to Birmingham had been forced, fresh rain swapped for acid, coal in the water that once ran so clear.

“Bulsara?” Jim leaned against the doorframe. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He asked, a vaguely amused tone to his voice.

“My suit is drying.” He said nervously. “I hadn’t laundered it in two weeks, sir.”

“How did you wash it?” Jim questioned. 

“Just in some warm water, sir. Down in the bathroom last night.” Freddie glanced over at where he’d hung it to dry over the back of a chair. 

“Did that get the stains out?” He asked curiously, sitting himself on the desk and throwing a carton of cigarettes on his bed. “It’s a housewarming present.”

“Thank you, sir.” Freddie picked up the cigarettes and carefully tucked them into his bedside drawer. “And it did enough, sir. Washing powder is a little expensive at the moment.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about doing that, Freddie.” Jim walked over and squeezed his shoulder. “Just wear something else, you can give it to the maid to get it laundered.”

“I’m afraid I don’t yet have that luxury, sir.” Freddie replied. “I’ll start buying another when the money has come through.”

Jim looked him over quickly and smiled. “I’ll get you a new one, Bulsara. You need it if you’re going to be my secretary, after all.”

Freddie turned back to the window when the same noise started up again, his eyes turning wide and childlike. “What is that noise?” He asked softly. “Church bells?”

“Welcome to Birmingham.” Jim came up behind him and rested a hand on the small of his back. “Where the sound of church bells is indistinguishable from the sound of hammers on molten iron.”

“That’s the blacksmith?” He asked curiously.

“Yes, Freddie, it’s the blacksmith.” Jim grinned with amusement. “You’re like a child.”

“It’s just so new.” He admitted. “My family was so traditional, and you’re so different.”

“Welcome to the real world.” Jim smiled. 

“Is it real?” Freddie cocked his head to the side. “Or is it real to you?”

* * *

“So how do you guarantee to me that he’s safe?” Polly tapped her cigarette on the counter and hummed. “What’s in it for him?”

“I’m going to make him fall in love with me.” Jim replied, easy and smooth as honey, as though it were the simplest task in existence. “I’m going to get him to sleep with me, and then I’ve got blackmail on him. People around here don’t know him like that.”

“Doesn’t that backfire on you?” She questioned.

“Not when it’s business. I’m hardly innocent of using prostitutes to do my bidding.” He grinned and downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. “He’s a whore. I’ll take him on a trip, seduce him, get to know him a little too well, and then he’ll never dare put a foot wrong. He’ll keep his mouth shut if he knows he’s dead without my protection.”

She whistled her approval. “That’s good. You definitely know that he’ll sleep with you?”

“I’ll ask him what his prices are, and he’ll say he doesn’t want paying. He wants to prove his loyalty because I’ve held back his wages for the first few weeks and he doesn’t want to go without the twelve shillings I owe him.” Jim took Polly’s cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag himself. “Plus I bought him cigarettes and promised him a suit. He sees me as some kind of provider.”

“No, I get that.” She said quietly. “I more mean- is he that way inclined?”

“I don’t know.” Jim shrugged. “I don’t care. He slept with men for money, and he was offered a place at a gentlemen’s club, and that’s close enough for me.” He insisted. “It’ll be fine, Pol, don’t fret. I’ve got it.”

“What do you actually want him for, then?” She asked curiously. “If you’re keen enough to blackmail him into staying?”

“He’s good with numbers, and he’s committed. He stays up through the night to get letters done by first post. I need someone to keep an eye on finances and communications while we focus on the turf in London. I can’t trust a woman with that.” Jim shrugged. “Besides, I’ve got to get a wife before long, and he’ll be good to have around if I get the urge.”

* * *

Freddie leaned over the old desk, typing frantically at his typewriter; it was approaching lunchtime, and all the morning’s letters needed posting before he switched to taking minutes on a meeting in the early afternoon. After that, he had to audit the finances, especially a spare hundred pounds that had gone missing somewhere in the past few days - a task he’d been putting off, and was dreading.

He rubbed his tired eyes, heavy with sleep, and considered momentarily the merits of resting his head on the desk and closing his eyes. It only made him think, however, of being back at school, sleeping in his school days and being smacked across the back of a hand with a ruler, a sharp, pinpointed pain only a little better than the belt his father used when in a bad mood. He yawned and cracked his knuckles, and forced himself to type out the next few lines, though his eyes drooped as he did.

His mind drifted to home, drifted to the  _ vardo  _ he had shared with his sister; he thought of their favourite stream to sleep by, the food she would cook when he had managed to light the stove, waking up opposite one another to another storm or another birdsong. He thought of bright colours, of fresh air, of feeding the horses in his undershirt and socks and taking tea to his mother and father once he dared to rouse them. He could still remember the day that they had received their own to share, his fourteenth birthday, his sister a little over thirteen; he could remember the hours it took him to clean out the furnace and chimney in order to not fill it with smoke as soon as he lit the fire. He remembered-

“Bulsara.” Jim barked as he walked into the room; Freddie hadn’t felt his eyes slip shut. “Get your coat. We’re going out.”

Freddie went to protest, but he’d learned better than that when he’d had a cigarette put out on the back of his hand for his trouble. “Yes, sir.” He replied immediately, grabbing his overcoat from the stand in the corner of the room. “Where are we going, sir?”

“Upstairs, first of all. I want you to get some things together. We’re going on a trip.” Jim softened a little then. “I’ve decided we both need a break, so I thought I’d get the wagon out. I figured that you would be better at living in them than me, what with lighting fires and keeping them clean and the like.”

“I can do my best, sir.” Freddie said shyly, but his smile was inalienable. “My sister did a lot of the housekeeping, but I did help her sometimes. It never felt right to sit back and let her do all the work, even though my father said that that’s a man’s right-” He paused momentarily, realising he’d spoken out of turn. “I’m sorry, sir.” He apologised meekly.

“Don’t apologise.” Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders and ushered him upstairs. “Talk to me as a friend, Freddie. I don’t care about the rules when it’s just the two of us.” 

Freddie smiled and gathered the few toiletries of his own that he kept by the washbowl in his bedroom. “Will I be needing other clothes, sir?” He asked. 

“Bring your other stuff. Not the suit.” Jim sat on the end of his bed and smiled. “Your traditional stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Freddie checked. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You’re not going to embarrass me by wearing a few lengths of silk.” Jim smiled. “I’m taking my traditional gear too. My colour is blue.”

“We consider blue bad luck.” Freddie took his favourite shirt from the wardrobe and folded it diligently, the softest red silk that he’d ever touched. “This one was a gift for my eighteenth.”   
  


“Can I ask you why you’ve come out into the rest of society now?” Jim lay back on his bed, enjoying the softness against his back. “Because if you’re so traditional, then surely you should be married by now? Surely you should have children? Don’t tell me it’s for your sister’s education, because I know that’s a load of shit.”

Freddie’s face fell a little. “A little too traditional.” He said quietly. “I spent a very long time being very happy and it was only when I got to marrying age that it all went wrong.” He picked up a bracelet from the counter, a shabby little thing, three shades of blue all twisted together. “Is it true what they say about you, sir?”

“What do they say?” Jim asked, faintly amused.

“They say that you- you’re not inclined towards women.” He tried to phrase it as politely as he could, knowing too well that there was a pistol hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket. “That you prefer men.”

Jim shrugged. “Would it make any difference if it were true?” He challenged.

“No, sir.” Freddie said quickly. “Not at all. I- I actually came to you in the beginning because of what they said. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t throw me out if the truth came to light.”

“What are you trying to say to me, Freddie?” Jim asked.

“I was thrown out of the community.” He wrapped his arms around himself and looked out the window, a little wounded animal locked in a cage far too small. “Because I like other men.”

Jim stood up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s not fun.” He agreed. “To hide who you are. But we’ll go on this little getaway, and you can forget it ever happened. We can have our own community for the weekend.” 

He dared to press his lips to the back of Freddie’s neck, not quite a kiss, but enough so that he could feel the low rumble of his voice across his skin. “You and me, darling. Be yourself again. I don’t want you in that suit any longer.”

Freddie’s cheeks pinkened and he turned to look over his shoulder, but Jim was gone before he could question the pet name.

* * *

“I’m driving the wagon.” Jim hauled himself up onto the front step of the vardo, grabbing the reins of the horse. “You can join me, or you can have my other horse.”

Freddie looked radiant, dressed in red and gold, and his smile was enough to light the night sky. “You’ll let me ride?”

“You know how to, I assume?” Jim teased. “I’ve been taking you out in the car a lot, so I assumed you’d be wanting to ride. More traditional, after all.” He winked. He gestured towards a black horse with one hand. “You can untie her.”

“Hello, darling!” Freddie’s voice softened as he carefully untied the horse, petting down the side of her neck with his hand. “Let’s go on an adventure!”

She wasn’t an easy horse to ride, with a tendency to buck, but Jim had chosen her regardless. He watched as Freddie carefully harnessed her and hauled himself up with practiced grace; she stood perfectly well behaved as he did, occasionally turning towards his soft hands. “You gave me an easy horse.” Freddie chuckled as he took her over to where he was waiting. “Trying to make my life easier?”

“She’s a tough one.” Jim leaned over and patted her on the head. “She clearly likes you. She would’ve usually bucked me twice by now.”

“My horse back home was tough. No one ever wanted to ride her except me. I broke so many bones on her.” He laughed as they walked along together. “I sometimes wonder that if I get into a good family, whether they’ll let me back in, or whether I’m expelled for good.”

“Would you want to go back to people that kicked you out in the first place?” Jim challenged. “You should make your own Roma community. Live peacefully in your own place with your own rules and ethics.”

“Is that really Roma?” Freddie countered. “I could argue that you’re not really Roma.”

He took one look at Jim’s expression and backtracked immediately; he had forgotten that he was still talking to his boss. “I mean, sir, I wouldn’t do that, of course, because I can tell that you still maintain the traditions.” He spoke quickly, a little fearfully. 

Jim leaned over and touched his shoulder gently. “It’s alright. You just can’t say things like that. Just because we don’t travel doesn’t mean we aren’t gypsy.”

“Do you call yourselves that?” Freddie asked shyly. “Or is that what the English call you?”

“Both.” Jim brought his horse into a canter and Freddie followed his instruction seamlessly. “The English call us gypsies, so we call ourselves gypsies. If we didn’t, they’d use it to insult us. Besides, it’s only a nod to our heritage.”

“It’s always been used as a dirty word wherever I’ve been.” Freddie admitted. “Can I ask a question about your family?”

“Of course.” Jim shrugged. “Fire away.”

“How come you’re all white Irish if you’re Roma?” He questioned. “None of you look like me.”

“My grandmother was an adopted child, and she was white Irish. I never knew my father, so I can’t say about him.” Jim explained. “He lived until I was five and then he died. He ran this whole business, so I wasn't allowed to see him. We weren’t traditional in the slightest, hence the adoption, so my family commended my mother for selecting a man with such high status and wealth who was willing to take on the Romanipen.”

Freddie threaded the family tree together in his mind and then beamed over at Jim. “I like that. I like that some communities allow for things like that.” He said earnestly. “Because maybe I could marry back into a Roma family that would allow me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone.” Jim smiled. “Someone to look after you. You strike me as that kind of man.”

“I’d like to be a househusband. I’d like to clean and cook and look after my husband in that way.” Freddie nodded. “I’m not sure I’m like the rest of you. You’re all strong and efficient but I don’t think my brain is wired in that way. I’m not designed to run a business.”

“What would you do?” Jim questioned.

“I’d dance.” Freddie hummed. “Some kind of entertainment. I wasn’t really educated enough to be able to do a proper job. That’s why the letters take me so long, because I have to look up all of the words to check that I’m spelling everything right and sometimes I have to write them out twice with corrections.” He paused. “I like making people happy.”

* * *

Freddie stretched out in the morning sunshine and padded down the little steps of the vardo to the stream next to them. He dipped his fingers in the cold water and splashed his face, taking in breaths of the fresh air - they were only a few miles out of Birmingham, but Freddie felt as though they were in the middle of the wilderness again. They’d shared a bed again last night, doors and windows thrown wide to invite in the warm night air, hot breaths rolling over soft skin as they slept together. 

He stood on his toes to stretch out his lower legs and closed his eyes momentarily. His skin was warm in the sunshine, and he finally felt safe, sated and warm, no longer having to travel on his own and find his own way, returning to where he knew the rules. The sunshine bounced off his silk-clad form and laughed to himself, stretching his arms overhead and turning his face into his shoulder, curling into himself like a baby seeking comfort.

He went over to the horses and set out their food, retying them when he realised they were a little too far away from the stream to be able to drink easily; a little part of him thought of untying his horse, of running away, far, far away from here, to a corner of the Earth where no one knew him and he could start again. However, it was loyalty that stopped him, loyalty that kept him where he was, loyalty and something almost close to love.

Jim sat on the steps of the vardo and lit a cigarette, holding one out to Freddie as he walked over. “Want one?” He offered. 

“Thank you.” Freddie took one from the box and lit it from a candle burning by the doorway. “You really chose the perfect spot. It’s so quiet.”

Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him a little closer, seeing how Freddie responded; he softened in Jim’s arms and rested his head on his shoulder. “I thought you’d like it here.” He smiled. “When I was a child, I used to take a horse and sleep out whenever home life got stressful. It’s how I deal with a lot of things, and especially deaths.”

Freddie stretched out his bare arms and smiled. “It’s so peaceful. I can see why you’d choose here.” He agreed. Jim let his eyes rake over his bare torso and hummed in delight with what he saw, skin warm in heat and tone, muscles firm from years of work, lithe and strong and gorgeous. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“I wanted to share this spot with someone.” Jim said softly. “Someone that means something to me.”

His heart told him no, not to use and abuse the affections of someone so loving in such a way, not to hit someone’s vulnerability so personally, not to manipulate him into trust and love that he himself didn’t deserve. It was business, he reminded himself, he needed a secretary whom he could trust, whom he could have blackmail for.

But when he looked at Freddie, fresh and young and not made weary from coal and gunshots, something in his heart awoke. Something in him came alive, a capacity to love again, a capacity to trust. He could picture a life with him, and he couldn’t picture a life with anyone, a vardo and a fire and purple silk and children dancing around their feet.

Maybe, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t just thinking business anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you spot any inaccuracies, please tell me and educate me - I'm learning the Roma culture as I go along, and obviously I'm bending in it places regarding sexuality etc, so I don't promise to be 100% accurate!


	4. Drapes and Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets his way, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the kink negotiation in salazarsslytherin's 'safeword' - credit where credit's due!

“Why did you choose me?” Freddie asked abruptly, looking over from where he was sweeping out their vardo. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I told you.” Jim smiled and made sure to flick the ash of his cigarette out onto the grass, instead of in the wagon as he usually would; he respected how well Freddie kept everything clean and fresh. “I wanted to show this place to someone I care about.”

“I know that.” Freddie leaned on the broom and smiled. “But why me?”

Jim threw his cigarette away and walked up the steps. “I’m evidently not making it clear enough.” He took Freddie’s broom away and took his hands instead. “I care about you, Freddie.”

“Why?” Freddie asked again, playful smile written across his face. “You could’ve brought your brothers, or your sister, or Polly, or any of the other guys that work in the stables or in your bar. But you chose me, and we’ve barely known each other for a few weeks.”

Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into his personal space a little. “Because I want to know the real you, Freddie, not the machine that Birmingham makes you into.” He said softly. “Because knowing that you take a lit cigarette to your skin without flinching but loud noises make you jump, I figured there was more going on up here.” He tapped Freddie’s head and smiled. “Plus, darling, I really want to kiss you.”

“Darling.” Freddie echoed. “You keep calling me that.” He cupped Jim’s cheek with one warm palm, an open invitation; he was master of pleasing people, keeping a straight face through anything he didn’t like, never protesting. He was master of others’ pleasures, whatever they wanted to do, a pliant little boat on a big ocean.

“I think it suits you.” Jim smiled. “Can I kiss you, darling?” He asked, ever the gentleman.

“Anything you like.” Freddie said softly; his heart immediately dropped into his stomach when Jim pulled away, thinking he’d offended or upset him, said the wrong lines for the wrong part, misinterpreting the role he was supposed to fill. “I mean, sir, I’m sorry, I can be different if you want-”

“I don’t want you to be different.” He said immediately. Every time they started to get closer, Freddie put the subservient barriers back up, and Jim was reminded of who he was, who they both were, a prostitute and a murderer. “I want you to say you want it, but don’t say it for my sake. If you don’t want it, then tell me.”

“No, of course I do.” Freddie said shyly. “I just- anything, sir, really, I’d be happy with anything.”

Jim paused for a second, considering his response. “If I wanted to have sex with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Freddie said breathlessly.

“If I wanted to tie you up?” He tried again, trying to find the limit of where he’d say no, just to check he still knew how to form the word.

“Of course, sir.” He said again.

“If I wanted to make you pass out?” He challenged. “If I choked you?”

Freddie nodded again, biting at his thumbnail. “Anything.”

“If I wanted to punish you?” Jim leaned against the counter and looked him up and down. “If I wanted to smack you, or make you bleed?”

Freddie seemed to falter, only ever-so-slight, but Jim noticed all the same. “That’s fine, sir.” He nodded. “Really, sir, anything.”

“You faltered.” He said immediately. “Tell me the truth.”

“It’s fine.” He tried to make himself sound more confident. “If it makes you happy, sir.”

“Fine as in tolerable, or fine as in desirable?” Jim asked him. “If it’s desirable, then this might not work out. I’m not into hurting people in that way.” He saw Freddie soften a little, and arched an eyebrow. “So tell me the truth.”

“I just-” Freddie looked away shyly. “I get paid, sir, to do or be whatever anyone wants. I can enjoy anything. I can be bratty or a good sub or I can tie men up or be tied up.” His cheeks started to colour. “I can take anything. And when I say anything, I’m not lying, because even if I don’t want it men find fun in making me do it-”

Jim’s face was a little disgusted and Freddie suddenly felt ashamed of himself. “I’m not paying for you, Freddie. I’m not other men. I want to know what your limits are.” He paused and then continued when Freddie didn’t offer any suggestions. “Shall I tell you mine?”

Freddie nodded shyly, sitting back on their sofa and crossing his legs. “I don’t like to cause pain for other people.” Jim explained. “I don’t often like to be on the bottom, I don’t like blood, and I don’t like my partners to be very quiet. I like to know I’m making other people feel good.”

Freddie listened intently, and Jim could see a little of the rigidity come away from his body. “I don’t really like the idea of punishment.” He admitted quietly. “I’ve just had some bad experiences. I know it’s not really assault, because they pay to be rough, but I’ve been put out of work sometimes for a few weeks because they’ve made me bleed and I’ve had to be careful. Or, it’s gotten unbearable and I’ve tried to call a halt to it and they’ve just shoved a fucking sock or pair of boxers in my mouth and-” He shut his mouth resolutely. “You get the idea.”

Jim came closer then, bringing him in closer. “Thank you for telling me.” He kissed Freddie’s forehead. “I’ll never do that to you. Is there anything else?”

“I don’t like spanking.” Freddie said immediately. “I don’t like pain in that kind of way. Especially not belts.” He thought of the welts across his back, across his thighs, and suddenly he was on the verge of crying. 

“Hey-” Jim’s voice was softer than Freddie had ever heard before, and Freddie instinctively curled into his chest as he wrapped both arms around him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like the memories.” Freddie whispered. “But if- if you’re into that, I know some people like to make me cry, I can learn to like it, I can do anything-”

“You don’t have to do anything for me.” Jim stroked his hair back. 

“Just not in the face.” Freddie touched his face gingerly. “Please.”

“No hitting at all.” Jim promised. “What about what you do like?”

Freddie’s cheeks coloured again, but he seemed to calm down a little. “I like being told I’m doing well.” He admitted. “I don’t like being called nasty names, but I like the good ones. I- I’m pretty simple, really. Pretty vanilla.” He admitted. “Although I do enjoy a bit of bondage, delay, teasing, toys, that kind of thing.”

“Good boy.” Jim smiled. “Thank you for being so open with me. Now, Freddie-” He tilted his chin up a little. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” He said more confidently, cupping Jim’s cheek and kissing him softly. This time, for once, he felt as though he wasn’t playing a part.

* * *

“You’re so covered in bruises, darling.” Freddie lay next to him, sated and naked, tracing each coloured smudge with the pads of his fingers. “Do they hurt?”

“The new ones do.” Jim pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. “Most of them are old, now. The new ones are a little rough and tumble, nothing like they have been. Fist fights.”

“Why haven’t they gone away if they’re old?” He questioned innocently. “Even when I’ve broken bones, the bruises have always gone away.”

“I bruise very easily, darling.” Jim lay on his back and lit a cigarette. “Some of the injuries I’m still healing from. It’s been a little bit on the rough side recently.”

Freddie took a cigarette from the packet Jim had bought him - black wraps, complete with a cocktail cigarette holder, more decadent than he’d ever experienced - and lit it from the end of Jim’s. His heart was warm with love for the man beside him, sleepy and heavy, lethargic but never lazy; his heart could beat out of his chest though it repeated that same, steady rhythm. It was as reliable as the ticking of the clock on the wall beside them, and yet as fragile as a feather in the wind, liable to be caught by any breeze from the Mediterranean or the Arctic, swept along in a current of warm wind until he wasn’t sure where or who he was anymore.

“Who did this to you?” Freddie asked quietly. “Will they do it to me?”

“It depends how close you let yourself get to me.” Jim rolled onto his side and cupped Freddie’s cheek, kissing him slowly. “It depends on if you want to be my whore or my lover.”

“Which one is safer?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Being my whore. No one need know if your secretarial duties extend to bending over your desk every once in a while.” Jim shrugged. “No one except a few members of the family, that is, so they don’t question if I spend the night in your room.”

“What about being your lover?” He couldn’t deny that the idea of being a whore in that way made him feel almost shameful, dirty; it would be beyond any facet of his religion, nothing acceptable in any part of their culture. To sell himself out, to become nothing but his body for the rest of his life, was dark and shameful. 

“If you’re my lover, I can’t guarantee it’ll be kept quiet. You might be targeted for no better reason than to hurt me.” Jim’s hand was warm as it squeezed Freddie’s hip. “But I’ll treat you like a fucking princess, darling, know that.”

Freddie’s cheeks turned as warm as Jim’s skin and he smiled, falling in love with each little word. “Like a princess?” He asked shyly.

“You can have anything you want.” Jim leaned in and kissed him, tainted with heavy smoke that they passed to one another. “I’ll take you anywhere. We can take the vardo around the world, we don’t have to stay in Birmingham, whenever you feel like travelling.”

He felt bad, luring Freddie in with sweet nothings; he was already engaged to be married to a very pretty, very wealthy girl, the daughter of the cavalry. Freddie, without realising it, was being lured into a decision between being his whore or being his whore: there was no way out. There would never be travelling, or big gifts, or preferential treatment; he was just another facet of the company.

“Anything?” Freddie asked softly. “So if I wanted to take up in the middle of the night and settle somewhere a hundred miles from anywhere, you’d let me?”

“You could find a new community for us to live in and I’d go.” Jim lied, brushing hair back from Freddie’s face. “Anything you wanted to, darling. You make me so happy.”

“This sounds wonderful.” Freddie sighed happily and lay back among his pillows. “Can we go out somewhere this evening? I want you to show me somewhere special.”

“I’ll take you to my favourite club in Coventry. All the men there will be simply desperate to get you to dance with them. Spend a little money on you.” Jim teased fondly. “You can play in any which way you want. I simply shan’t police you, darling.”

“You make me sound like a man of simple pleasures.” Freddie traced another bruise and smiled to himself. “I hope you know that I haven’t had sex like this in years. Proper sex.”

Jim chuckled. “This isn’t the last time, I should hope.”

“And me.” Freddie leaned up and kissed him again. “You make me selfish in the best way.”

“What do you mean, darling?” Jim asked, lazy and sleepy, pressing a kiss to the top of Freddie’s head.

“I love you.” Freddie whispered, that same, soft, slow voice that had contaminated them the whole night, the same voice of promise, of hopes and dreams and love else unimaginable.


	5. Microscopic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew that something wasn't quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deleted the last chapter five because I hated it and I didn't feel like it fit in with the rest of the fic - thank you for being so patient, kids!

Jim laughed and leaned forward from where he was perched precariously on the bankside, holding a hand out for Freddie to take; he was toddling amongst stones, slippery with stream water, and Jim had a vision of him slipping and getting soaked. Freddie’s hand was warm in his own as he turned to his lover, interlacing their fingers as he let the water wash over his feet in little waves - his grin was a child’s, forbidden such a simple pleasure for so long. “It’s a good job this stream moves so fast-” Freddie squealed as he slipped, but Jim caught him with a strong hand on the flat of his stomach. “You wouldn’t want to drink water that my feet had been in.”

“I’ve been drinking stream water?” Jim arched an eyebrow and pulled him in close until he was sat on his knee. “I thought you said it was bottled?”

“Chill out.” Freddie cupped his cheek, and Jim got momentarily lost in the feeling of cold jewellery against his skin. Freddie wasn’t the first Romani he’d met, not by a long stretch, but he’d never seen a man decorated in the same way as the women. “I know how to purify water, darling.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Jim chuckled and kissed his lips lightly. “Usually I’d expect you to not know how to do something, but you seem to have defied everything so far. The boys don’t usually know how to keep the wagon so clean, and the girls don’t know how to build fires, but you seem to transcend everything.”

“I was first rider. I had to know everything.” Freddie said softly. “I had to know how to protect myself when I went on ahead.”

“First rider?” Jim questioned, holding Freddie’s shoulder as they kissed again. “Never heard of that.”

“We kept getting moved on when we came to Europe.” Freddie tilted his head back and laughed when Jim’s hand moved to his neck. “We travelled the whole way through the Middle East from India while I was a child, it took us a good few years, and then we settled in Hungary for a few years because we were told it was safe. But when we got there, no matter where we settled, the police would chase us away. So when we were given notices, I’d go ahead and try and find a new place, and I’d stay the night to check it was safe so we didn’t accidentally take the children somewhere dangerous.”

“How old were you?” Jim asked. “It sounds dangerous.”

“I started when I was sixteen and finished when they kicked me out at twenty-one.” Freddie lolled his head to the side until it rested on Jim’s shoulder. “It was dangerous sometimes. I’d take a box of matches, a hammock, a blanket if it was cold, and some food with me. When I got a bit older I got a gun, just in case, because I kept being shot at and robbed.”

“What was it like on a good night?” Jim asked, trying to imagine it. His experiences of traditional camps were limited to family gatherings, everyone gathering for the sake of big meetings that he’d been quickly thrust into the middle of when his father had died.

“Beautiful.” Freddie smiled. “I’d sling up the hammock between two trees, get a little fire going, and I’d get a little bit of quiet. The problem with a community like that is there’s never any time for your own downtime because you’re always sharing your wagon with someone. I was always with my sister, and if she stayed with someone else, I’d be babysitting.”

Jim twisted a piece of Freddie’s hair around his finger, enjoying the look of the molten sun as it reflected off the gold ring in his nose. “When did you get this done?” He tapped it lightly. “Is it a status symbol?”

“More of a coming of age thing. I was fourteen.” Freddie twisted it between his fingers until it sat properly against his skin. “It’s to symbolise that you’re marriage age, and that you’re eligible. You get a more ornate one when you’re married.” He glanced over at Jim and cocked an eyebrow. “Is yours not the same thing?”

“Not at all.” Jim chuckled. “I got mine at five. It shows my status in the family.” He explained. “Next in line to the Hutton throne, if you will. My father died, and the following day I got a needle through my nose and my first pistol.” He chuckled.

“Ouch.” Freddie said softly. “They didn’t go lightly on you, did they, especially if you were grieving.”

“Not grieving, exactly. I don’t think I ever actually met my father, because children were the women’s concern. I had my mother and a community of aunts and nieces that doted on my hand and foot because I was going to be the next head of the business. My uncle stood in while I was too young to make decisions, but I was going out with them from the age of eleven, even if I just stood in doorways as a lookout. They weren’t allowed to not include me.” Jim traced the tattoo on the back of Freddie’s hand, the big, blooming rose coloured in a thousand shades of blue, teal, royal, Prussian, Egyptian, electric and baby. “What about this?”

“Twofold.” Freddie clenched his hand into a fist and stretched his fingers out again, giving the impression of wind rippling through its petals. “Blue is kind of obvious, I’d assume. It’s a courting tattoo. Sexual preferences.” He shrugged. “Subtle enough that you only understand it if you’re looking for it. But the blue rose also represents impossibility.” He paused for a second. “The impossibility of finding love if you’re like me.”

“Oh, darling.” Jim cupped his cheek and pressed his lips to Freddie’s. “It’s not impossible.”

“That’s why I came here.” Freddie said softly. “Because I heard that you were like me, I just- I guess it eclipsed all my common sense.” He joked.

“Because your only experience of men like you is them being your customer?” Jim’s voice had taken a more sympathetic lilt. 

“Those men aren’t like me.” Freddie stood back up, toes plunging back into the water. “Those men have wives and girlfriends, and have dark fantasies in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t chase sex in that way.”

Jim leaned forward, interested. “You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“Never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend.” Freddie shrugged. “I’ve been set up with different girls, but I never proposed, and that’s when people started to realise that something was wrong.”

“How do you know that you want commitment, then?” Jim asked. “How do you know that you love me?”

“I don’t.” Freddie’s smile was cheeky as he let go of Jim’s hand and ran to the other side of the stream. “I don’t know anything, but I don’t think anyone else knows either. They just pretend to know.” He grinned. 

Jim stood up and immediately screeched. “You made this water look warm!” He laughed and went over to him, picking him up easily. Freddie wrapped his legs around Jim’s waist and cupped his cheek, kissing him again. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Jim's, treasuring such a moment of quiet; he wanted it to last forever.

“Why did you really bring me out here?” Freddie asked, running his thumb over Jim’s cheekbone gently. He still wasn’t satisfied that Jim was telling him the truth; he seemed to evade everything Freddie asked. “Are you spinning me a tale with this being your favourite place?”

Jim sighed and kissed him again. “I wanted to play pretend.” He admitted. “I wanted to pretend for a while that I didn’t have a business to run and you’re not manipulating me into giving you a job and that we could live happily ever after.”

“We can’t?” Freddie echoed, voice going small. “But you said-”

“I know what I said, princess.” He sighed. “I want to, so much. But I’ve got a girl at home and she wants children and-”

He stopped at Freddie’s grief-stricken face and carefully put him down: Freddie stumbled to the other side of the stream and sat down on the bank. “Which is why you wouldn’t say you love me in return.”

“It’s not that I don’t love you.” Jim sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “If I could, I would wrap you up and have you by my side for the rest of my life, Freddie, but I can’t. People would ask too many questions.”

“Why do you care?” Freddie shook his arm off and stood up. “You’re Jim fucking Hutton, you don’t have to answer to anyone. You could make a difference, and yet you’re just the same as the rest of them.” He crossed his arms. “Cheating on some poor fucking girl because you like to fuck men.”

“It’s not like that.” Jim insisted, but he felt guilt deep in his stomach - it was exactly like that.

“Why can’t you just be who you are? Why can’t you just accept the fact that that girl deserves someone that can love her properly?” Freddie sighed. “I’m not being your bit on the side. I’m not being your whore.”

“Freddie-” Jim stood up, but Freddie walked away from him. “Freddie, come on, please-”

“What do you want from me?” Freddie turned around, still walking backwards. “You want some pretty bit of skirt that’ll spread his legs wide open and moan your name so you can think about it while you fuck your wife?”

“That’s disgusting.” Jim crossed his arms. “I hope you’re not serious.”

“But it’s what I am, isn’t it?” He grabbed his shoes from in front of the wagon and pulled them on quickly. “That’s why you want me. You know, for two fucking minutes, I thought you might be different. I thought you might be interested in something other than my cock.” His voice was rising slowly.

“Shut up!” Jim shouted, coming forward and grabbing his shoulder. “Freddie, come on, you know I’m not like that!”

“Do I?” He pulled away and grabbed the rope that kept his horse around a tree. “I don’t know fucking anything about you. I know that you’d put a bullet in my face at point-blank range, and I know you’d leave me here to rot because no one would come looking. You’ve never told me anything except that.”

“Because that’s my life, Freddie.” He sighed. “I’d love to pretend there’s more to it, but there isn’t.”

Jim’s lack of anger was disarming, and suddenly Freddie felt as though he was going to cry. “Why can’t I find a single fucking person that wants me?” His voice was barely a whisper, and it broke Jim’s heart.

He wrapped his arms around Freddie, cradling him close. Freddie hit his chest weakly, over and over, but Jim’s steady heart and light fingers through his hair finally calmed him down. “I’m sorry, Freddie.” He said quietly. It had been years since he’d last apologised to somebody. “I shouldn’t have used you like this.”

Freddie sniffed wetly and wiped his eyes, letting himself be cradled in Jim’s arms. “I just wanted you to love me. I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jim kissed his forehead. “I do love you. I’ve just gotten us into such a mess, and I’ve only known you a few weeks.”

“I’ve got to go.” Freddie sighed. “I know it, you don’t have to say it, I’ll go and take up with Sabini.” He glanced down at his hand, the blue rose petals, and bit his lip to stop himself from breaking down crying.

“Don’t go.” Jim cupped both his cheeks and tilted his head up. “I’ll have to sort this out. This is my mess, Freddie, I’m not punishing you for it.” He paused and kissed him gently. “I want to look after you.”

“If this is lies, Jim, I swear-” Freddie closed his eyes heavily. “Please don’t say these things if you don’t mean it.” He whispered.

“I do mean it, Freddie, I promise.” He said quietly. “I’ll sort this mess out.”


	6. Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft moment in the midst of the rising storm.

Jim sat back in his chair and struck a match to light his cigarette, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “So what have you done? In response to that threat?” He asked; he was already exhausted by a half hour of a family meeting. 

“We came up with two possibilities. I-” John rolled his eyes and knocked back a whiskey. “I suggested we beat the fucking shit out of them. But Arthur insisted we had to compromise and just pay back part of the money, and Polly fucking agreed with him.”

“Arthur?” Jim asked roughly.

Arthur looked proud of himself. “I thought it wasn’t worth risking a guerilla war over when we’re trying to set up business in London. I sent the invoice through to your secretary on Friday before you left, so it should all be paid.”

“Bulsara?” Jim’s voice echoed around the room and Freddie looked up quickly. He’d been told to sit at the back of the room, to not interrupt unless spoken to; he’d been working on another letter. “Have you done as you were told?”

Freddie’s cheeks pinkened and he chewed nervously on the inside of his lip. “No, sir.” He replied shyly. “The sum of a thousand is around a fifth of the income we have in the safe, and I thought it would be best to seek your authorisation in case you were using the money for something planned.”

Jim stood up quickly. “Loyalty!” He pointed to Freddie with the end of his cigarette. “Not one of you fuckers thought to pass it by me first? Do you know what fucking happens if we compromise?” He took a drag. “We become known for fucking compromising! Every man and his fucking dog is going to expect our money if we just give it out for mildly inconveniencing someone. John-” He pointed at him. “We’ll raid the bars. Organise it for me.”

“Got it.” He stood up and nodded. “Can I get some money from your secretary?” He asked, though his tone was mocking: he didn’t like that Jim seemed more fond of Freddie than the rest of his family.

“Don’t use that tone on me.” Jim replied darkly. “Don’t you dare speak about him in that voice.”

He whistled and went for the door. “Someone’s got favourites.”

Jim pulled his gun and shot the doorframe next to John. “I said, watch your fucking mouth.”

“That’s enough, Jim.” Polly rested a hand on his arm. “No one means anything by it.”

“Fuck off.” He spat. “You think it’s okay to talk about him like that when he easily does more than any of you combined?”

“He’s never come back with blood on his hands.” Arthur said roughly. “He just sits cosied up in that office and gets all your favour.”

“Can you read, Arthur? Can you fucking write?” He rolled his eyes at the silence. “How the fuck are we supposed to get as many letters out as we need to if none of us can fucking write?”

“Linda can read.” He replied immediately.

“And she’s a fucking woman. I can’t trust her not to rob me blind.” He shook his head. “This meeting is over, you can go.”

* * *

Jim’s whole life had been about murder, blood and loyalty; he lived in a world where everything was fast, rough, one man trying to outdo another. Everything was business: love was business, sex was business, shameful and fast and rough. He didn’t take men home, nor did he expect to be taken home. Sex was money earned, money exchanged, paying for a moment of satisfaction that no one else could ever know about.

Love had never been like this before; Freddie’s warm skin pressed against his, his cheek to his chest, lips kissed red. 

Jim traced his fingers over Freddie’s waist, back and forth, eyes heavy with sleep. They hadn’t slept together yet; Freddie had been willing to get down on his knees for Jim in a heartbeat, but he got scared and shy whenever Jim went to return the favour. Jim had expected a brashness in regards to sex, abject confidence in the same manner as the first night when Freddie had twisted his hips and batted his eyelashes until he got the job. He hadn’t expected blushes, advances avoided, shyness and bashfulness.

“Freddie?” Jim rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, interlacing their fingers. “Can I- why don’t you want me to touch you?” He asked quietly.

Freddie chewed on his lip shyly, tucking himself up against Jim’s chest so he didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I- I-” He looked down at his hands. “I’m scared I won’t be any good?” He said quietly, phrasing it more of a question than an explanation.

“What?” Jim’s smile was kind, warm; he hadn’t expected self-doubt when it came to sex. “Why wouldn’t you be good, darling?”

“I’ve never had a relationship before.” He said quietly. “I’m not used to having sex like that. I’m scared that you won’t enjoy yourself and you can’t do anything about it now so you’ll spend your life pretending not to be disappointed until someone better comes along. People that don’t like me generally just don’t pay me and then I at least know where I stand.”

“But why wouldn’t I enjoy myself, sweetheart? Everything so far has been wonderful.” Jim carefully tilted his head up and captured his lips.

“I can-” Freddie couldn’t believe he was getting so shy talking about this. “I can get loud, and people find that tacky. And I- I haven’t actually been on the bottom before.”

“You haven’t?” Jim asked incredulously. “But you-”

“I know.” He bit his thumbnail shyly. “The thing with being a whore like me is that most men want to be the bottom, because they know what being a top is like, because that’s just like being with their wives is like.”

“Most?” Jim was more curious than anything. “What else do you do?”

“Some men like weird stuff.” Jim could see he was relaxing now the focus of the conversation was off of him. “One guy just wanted to get off while I punched him in the balls, he was too shy to suggest it to his wife.”

“I wonder why.” Jim’s voice was humorous and Freddie smiled. 

“I’m just not used to having sex for love, I think.” Freddie admitted. “Sex is business. People don’t- they’ve never focused on me, before, we’ve never been equal.”

“I can look after you.” Jim promised. “I’d like to make you feel good, darling. You deserve it.”

Freddie’s smile was big, the one that warmed Jim’s heart, teeth on show, unashamed and beautiful. “Okay.” He whispered and wrapped his arms around Jim, holding on tightly. “Can we- can we do it another time, darling? I’m tired now.”

Jim was glad to hear the development in Freddie’s attitude towards himself, his own self respect: he’d gone from insisting that Jim could do anything, suggesting his own passivity, to now expressing what he did or did not want. “Of course we can.” He smiled and closed his eyes, settling down comfortably. “Thank you for laying with me.”

Freddie smiled and kissed his chest. “Where’s Grace?” He asked quietly.

“Staying with her father. I’m planning to break it off with her tomorrow.” Jim said, nonchalant.

“What?” Freddie propped himself up on one elbow. “Isn’t that going to raise questions?”

“I don’t want to lie to anyone anymore.” Jim leaned in and kissed him lightly. “Freddie, I love you.”

Freddie mouthed momentarily before he started to smile shyly. “Do you mean that?”

Jim kissed him again, arm winding around his waist. “I love you, Freddie Bulsara.” He murmured again.

Freddie laughed and kissed him back, crawling into his lap. “I love you.” He whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you.” Jim grinned and lay back, leaving Freddie against his chest. “You’re the best mistake I’ve ever made.”

Freddie grinned. “I’ll take the compliment.” He whispered.

* * *

“Knock knock.” Jim came into the office early that morning, surprised to see Freddie up and dressed and already looking stressed. “Christ, how much sleep did you get?”

“I don’t know.” Freddie swallowed a mouthful of his coffee absentmindedly. “I swear Arthur’s trying to work me to the bone.”

“What time did you go to bed?” He tried again, resting a hand on Freddie’s back. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to spell the word establishment.” He muttered. “I haven’t been to bed yet.”

“I fell asleep with you.” Jim frowned. “Didn’t I?”

“Yes, darling, and then I got up because I had work to do.” Freddie chuckled. “Does it have a c or an s?”

“No idea.” Jim hummed, swallowing a mouthful of tea. “I can’t write. Will you come back to bed?”

“You can’t write?” Freddie asked incredulously. “No, darling, I have to work.”

Jim yawned and rested his head on the back of Freddie’s neck. “Why do you think I got a secretary?” He muttered. “I want my baby.”

Freddie’s cheeks warmed and he laughed shyly when Jim kissed the back of his neck. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“I don’t know.” Jim yawned. “It’s five in the morning. Business doesn’t start until midday. Come back to bed.”

Freddie leaned back and kissed him lightly. “I’ve got to get these out by first post.”

“Arthur’s fucking with you. It doesn’t matter.” He said and leaned heavily on him. “Even if it does, fuck him. You’re my secretary.”

Freddie turned around, smiling reluctantly when Jim took his hands. “I’ve got to earn my keep.” He whispered.

“You are.” Jim yawned and picked him up. “Come back to bed.”

Being manhandled was his weakness, and Jim knew it: he laughed shyly and bit his lip. “Okay.” He nodded begrudgingly. “Okay, I’ll come back to bed.”


	7. Martini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old face comes back up.

“I’m so glad you came for a drink with me, baby.” The man’s fingers were gentle as they combed Freddie’s hair back from his face. The mere mention of his old name made Freddie relax somehow, as if this man understood what it meant to be him and what he’d been through; when he’d been  _ baby,  _ he’d been a man altogether unrecognisable from now. “I’ve missed you horribly.”

“I’m sorry.” Freddie said bashfully. The man before him was strong, powerful, tall and dark and handsome in a way that Freddie could only dream of being; he was also intimidating as hell.

“Don’t be sorry.” The man took his hand gently and squeezed it. “I want you to come home, baby. We all miss you, you were our baby and we never thought you’d just up and leave.”

Freddie bit his lip shyly. “I have a proper job now.” He said quietly. “I’m a secretary.”

“I know what you’re doing now, baby. That’s why I came back to find you.” He wrapped his arm around Freddie’s shoulders. “You’re a secretary for the Huttons. You write letters and keep the books and do the sums and handle the cash. I bet he treats you well, hm?”

“Very.” Freddie chewed on the inside of his cheek. “The money is very good.”

“Is that what you want, baby? Money and dignity?” His lips were close to Freddie’s ear, making him shiver. “I can give you that, sweetness, a hundred times more than he could.”

“I think I prefer working for him.” He whispered.

“Oh, baby.” The sigh was the same as the one given to a misbehaving child. “He’s dangerous. I want you home so that I can look after you and make sure that nobody’s mistreating you. Remember how good I used to be?” He coaxed the memories back into Freddie’s mind. “Those men I screened and told that you couldn’t be theirs, or the ones I gave to other men because I knew they weren’t going to say yes to your conditions? You couldn’t have had any of that if you were out on the street, which is why I took you in.”

“He’s not dangerous to me, I make him happy.” Freddie sounded a little petulant. 

“Don’t use that tone on me.” He warned, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” He squeaked quickly.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re just out of practice.” He soothed. “You don’t know what he’s like. I didn’t want to tell you, but-” He paused for a moment and swirled his drink. “He killed one of my boys a few months back, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

Freddie’s eyes went wide and scared. “One of us?”

“One of us.” He agreed. “It was in all the newspapers, he killed him and threw him in a river. He called me up, baby, and he asked me for my best boy, and he offered me a lot of money. And I thought I could smell something wrong in the air, which is why I didn’t give him you, but I never imagined that he was going to kill one of my working boys.”

Freddie wrapped an arm fearfully around himself. “Can I come back?”

“Of course you can, I would love to have you back. You’re one of my biggest sellers, baby, everyone loves you.” The praise stained Freddie’s cheeks pink and he smiled. “But I’d need a confirmation that you’re coming back for five o’clock, otherwise I’ve got someone else waiting for a job if you don’t want it.”

Freddie stumbled quickly. Five o’clock was only an hour away, and Jim wasn’t home until seven; he had to make the decision on his own. “Okay.” Freddie nodded. “I’ll- I’ll come back. Same conditions as before.” He bit his lip. “I just- I don’t want to be doing this forever.”

“Of course, I understand.” He smiled. “I’m introducing a new experience that you can be the forefront of. It’s the boyfriend experience.” He squeezed Freddie’s hand again. “No fucking, just sitting and talking and having a drink and some kissing, like a date simulator.”

His face turned from worry to surprise and happiness. “So just going out on dates? I can do that.”

“You never have to leave the brothel, either, so I can make sure they don’t expect anything more from you.” He rubbed his back and smiled. “And when you’ve been doing that for me for a few years, you can become my partner and we can run the place together.”

“Run it?” He asked hopefully. “But I don’t want to recruit people.”

“That’s my job, baby, don’t worry.” He kissed Freddie’s forehead. “I want you to make sure all our working girls and boys are happy, buy them anything they want and teach them how to do the job as well as you can. You’ll help me keep the business running smoothly, and I’ll pay you as much as you want.”

“Yes!” Freddie squeaked. “I’d love that, please let me come home-”

“Why don’t you give daddy a famed promise kiss?” He cupped Freddie’s cheek. “I’ve missed you, baby, it’s nice to have you back in the family.”

Freddie pressed their lips together quickly, cheeks burning with a blush. 

* * *

Freddie grabbed a cloth to make a bundle, working quickly and quietly to pack up the two new suits and the abundance of silk in his wardrobe. He tried to put the idea of leaving out his mind, pretending he was only going on holiday for a while; he was scared of leaving, but he was scared of staying.

He wanted to stay here, wrapped safe and warm in Jim’s arms and tucked away from all the scary men in the world. At the same time, he was so frightened of Jim, had always been; he could lie so smoothly, so well, and Freddie would forever fear a bullet in his brain in the middle of the night. And now, knowing that he could kill other working boys: Freddie wasn’t sure he could ever trust him again.

“Bulsara?” Jim shouted as he came in the door, and Freddie’s heart leaped into his mouth. He’d wanted to escape quickly, quietly, without fuss or hassle and definitely without Jim knowing; he hadn’t counted on him being back so early. “Bulsara, where are you, we’re travelling tonight!” He called.

Freddie did the only thing he could think to do in that moment, caught between two obligations: he burst into tears.

So when Jim found him in his bedroom, next to a jumbled pile of his clothes with tears rolling down his cheeks, his immediate reaction was confusion but more pressingly, genuine concern. “Darling?” He softened his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Freddie flinched away when Jim went to hug him. “Please don’t.” He whispered. 

Jim crouched beside him instead. “What’s the matter, sweetness?” He tried again.

“He- he said you killed someone like me.” Freddie whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Why would I hurt you?” Jim asked quietly. “Sweetheart, who’s he? Who have you seen?”

Freddie shook his head and put his hands over his eyes. “He said I should go home, everyone misses me-”

“Freddie.” Jim said, voice as firm as his grip on Freddie’s hand. “I need to know who’s been talking to you, sweetheart.”

“Luca.” Freddie said quietly. “He said I have to go home because you’re dangerous but I’m scared.”

Jim hugged him this time, felt Freddie relaxing against his chest. “Do you want to go back?” He asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Freddie admitted. “I wasn’t happy but I- I knew who I was and what I had to do and I’m always so scared that I’ll mess something up here.”

“He’s dangerous, darling, you know that. He sold you out and used you to make money that you never saw.” He said quietly. “He gets into your brain and makes you think that you can’t look after yourself, but I know you can.”

“If you’re dangerous and he’s dangerous then where am I supposed to go?” Freddie whispered. “I want to be safe.”

“How well did he look after you?” Jim asked, placing his hands on Freddie’s shoulders. “Honestly, Freddie.”

“He did well sometimes.” He whispered. “Sometimes he stepped in when people got rough with me. It depends on how much they paid him.”

“Exactly.” Jim said quietly. “I won’t sell you out, Freddie. No matter all the money in the world. And please know, baby-” He kissed Freddie’s forehead, unaware of the memories that flashed up in Freddie’s mind. “I won’t ever hurt you.”


	8. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old habits die hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to explain (because honestly, why would y'all know?): the baby/daddy thing is a common dynamic between pimp and prostitute because it sets out a clear power imbalance. Something like bitch/daddy is also common, but Freddie's USP here is clearly sweetness/softness etc. and bitch wouldn't be appropriate!

Most decisions in his life, including this one, had come down to fear. Every place he’d ever moved to had been on the back of fear: from India to the Middle East, up through Europe, to Hungary, France, England. He’d sold himself from fear of starving, and let himself be taken in because of fear of being alone on the streets, fled to Jim from fear of Luca, and now fled back for the same fear.

He knew Luca, and he’d known him too long. He knew that the offers weren’t as sweet as they seemed: they were instructions. He’d found his best seller, and he wanted him back and the money he brought with him. He played sweet, but Freddie knew he’d be attacked if he didn’t go back; he was property of the brothel, as much as he pretended otherwise.

So he found himself knelt amongst pillows on his bed, cheeks stained with the humiliation of being allowed nothing more than a scanty pair of boyshorts to keep himself covered. He’d never been at the end of the business like this before, though: he’d seen others with bloody noses, knowing that they’d disobeyed his orders, wearing the marks on their faces with shame or with pride. He’d never been the one to be beaten before, but he’d had his face blackened twice in two weeks and he was still wearing the embarrassment like an albatross around his neck.

“I must say, baby-” Luca took a drag on his cigarette, something Freddie would never be allowed in his own room. “You’re being a real pain in the ass for me right now.”

Freddie clasped his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry, daddy.” He replied quietly, trying not to speak out of turn.

“Hmm.” He replied, clearly unimpressed; he tilted Freddie’s head up by tucking a finger beneath his chin, and then struck him hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. “You need to start fucking selling yourself, otherwise I’ll have to drop your prices.”

Freddie knew that meant longer days; he’d had seven clients that evening, and he was exhausted. He wasn’t sure he could stomach more. “I’m out of practice.” He whispered, staring at the sheets beneath his knees.

“You need to get that fucking head up.” Luca gripped his hair and pulled his head up so they met eyes. “And you need to smile all pretty, and you need to wiggle your hips and tell them your name. I want them to pick you out of my line ups.” He paused, the taunt on his lips, but anything went in that room. “Otherwise I’ll drop your conditions, too.”

Freddie’s expression turned into one of horror. “No-” He said quickly. “No, please, I’ll try harder-”

“You need to try some makeup, too, no one wants to fuck someone with bruises.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like one of my new boys.”

“Yes, daddy.” Freddie replied. “Can I sleep now?”

He was exhausted, having been awake and entertaining for hours upon hours, but one look at Luca’s face told him the night was still young. “It’s midnight, baby.” He replied. “You have six hours of your shift left.”

Freddie wrapped an arm around his cold skin and shivered; he couldn’t afford to complain anymore. The safest life was here, on Luca’s good side, selling well and getting preferential treatment: it wasn’t safe to go back to Jim, because one or other man would kill him in the process. He nodded and looked up, trying his best for his sweetest smile. “I’ll try hard for the next line up.”

“That’s my baby.” Luca pinched his burning cheek. “Let me have your money so far.”

He watched, vaguely amused, as Freddie scrambled to the pot he left beside his bed. He’d taken almost one and a half thousand that day, charging two hundred a session, and he was at least proud to have that money to hand over, to prove he was working hard-

His fingers came back empty, and Freddie realised he’d been robbed.

“I-” Freddie stuttered. “I don’t have any, daddy. Someone- someone must have taken it.”

Luca’s eyes darkened. “Have you been fucking off?” He asked. “I’ve given you seven men, fucking handed them to you, and you can’t get me a single fucking penny?”

“It’s not like that!” Freddie insisted, scared of the look in his eyes. “I promise, I swear, I took two hundred a session, someone’s swiped it-” He started searching his bedside desperately, eventually coming back with one twenty pound note and holding it up meekly.

“Fuck off.” Luca scoffed. “You’ve fucking hidden it from me, you’re trying to run this your own way, you think you can just laugh at me behind my back-” He snatched the twenty and shoved it down Freddie’s throat with two of his fingers, making him gag awfully. “Is this what you did for those men? Sat on your fucking knees and put the funds towards making a fucking fool out of me?” He grabbed Freddie’s throat. “Answer me!”

Freddie couldn’t stop coughing or gagging, the note making a wet wad in his throat that he couldn’t swallow or cough up. “No!” He squeaked. “No, I swear, please-”

The blow across his face was hard enough to knock him back and Luca stepped back with disgust. “If you don’t earn your keep, don’t fucking expect to stay.” He said, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

“I just can’t believe he’s gone.” Jim admitted, rubbing his forehead and sipping his coffee. “The new girl’s good enough, Pol, but she’s- she’s got no style. I can’t take her travelling with me, she’ll drive me insane in ten minutes.”

“You’ve never been a fan of women.” Polly chuckled. “We’ve got to move on from him. He was hardly an integral part of the business.”

“No, but, he- he was.” Jim sighed. “The men liked talking to him on the telephone. I was getting business done quicker because he did silly things like perfume the letters and ask people how their families were, he made everything a little more personal. It doesn’t fit in with us at all, and it should’ve been counterproductive, but he made people in high places sing his praises and the rest of us got dragged along with free licenses and the like.”

“You need to get over him.” John took a mug from the stand and poured his own coffee from the cafetiere. “He’s gone to Luca, he’s clearly a fucking idiot if he thinks that’s a better gig than here.”

“But did he choose to go?” Jim asked. “I just want to know that it was his choice.”

“Jim-” John squeezed his shoulder as he walked past. “Let it go. He knows too much, either leave him be and hope he doesn’t tell or put a bullet in his brain. God knows he’s not the first staff member you’ve put out their misery.”

“He was different!” He shouted. “You don’t fucking understand, he-” He was so close to telling them all, everything that had happened between them. “He was different.” He repeated.

“You won’t even remember his name in two months. We’ll get a proper agency secretary, someone that can do it a hundred times better. Christ, he could hardly spell.” John smirked. “He was pretty useless, in the grand scheme of things.”

“It just doesn’t sit right with me.” Jim insisted.

“We’ve got bigger fish to fry. We’re doing the whole move to London, you don’t have to give a shit about Luca and his brothel. God knows I wouldn’t step foot in that place, you’d get a disease just looking at the whores.” John chuckled. “Straighten your fucking cap, beat the shit out of Luca if you have to, but for fuck’s sake, move on. It’s been two weeks.”

“Yeah.” Jim stood up and stretched out his arm. “I’ve got to check on the factory so they don’t fucking strike again. That’s a bigger problem.”

“Exactly.” John slapped his back. “That’s it, chin up.”

* * *

The fist on his door startled him awake and Freddie jumped out of bed quickly. “Baby!” Luca shouted. “Line up, come on!”

Freddie changed his underwear quickly and kicked his comfort blanket under the bed. “Coming, daddy!”


	9. Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It'll get you almost anything, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not at all on the plot of Peaky Blinders anymore but it's certainly an interesting dynamic to explore!

“Oh, Mr. Hutton-” Luca stood quickly and lit Jim’s cigarette as he walked in; he didn’t mind the added hospitality when he paid well and often. “What can I tempt you with tonight?”

“Well-” Jim paused as if to contemplate, letting his eyes roam scantily clad pin-ups on the walls. “I’ve got an itch to scratch, if you know what I mean.”

The pretences ran high; both men knew the purpose of his visit, the conflict between them, but neither mentioned it aloud. It was as though the simple matter of Freddie had been brushed under the carpet when the cash changed hands and the drinks started to flow, two businessmen in perfect harmony with one another. 

“I can organise something special for you.” Luca tried to tempt him, to throw him off the scent of Freddie, asleep a few doors down. “As many girls and boys as you want, lowered prices. I’ll give you my best-”

“I want to choose tonight.” Jim held his cigarette in the air, letting the ash fall onto the freshly laundered carpets to prove his contempt. 

“You know I always choose well for you-” Luca started, but the careful arch of Jim’s eyebrow silenced him. “Shall I call a line-up for you?”

“That’s tacky.” Jim said bluntly. “Haven’t you got pictures of them?”

“Not my current ones. We’ve had an influx of new starters recently, I’m sure there’ll be someone new to pique your fancy.” He grinned. “Though they might still need a little bit of training, I’m sure you’re the man to handle that.”

“I’d rather not have the work.” Jim said dismissively. “No, call a line-up then. I want to see them.”

“Girls, boys, or both?” He questioned, standing up.

“Boys.” Jim answered, gesturing for him to sit down again. “I want to talk money first.”

“Oh?” Luca asked, perching on the arm of his armchair. “Why, do you have something special in mind? It’s still two hundred for regular, three hundred for anything kinky, but I’m sure I can lower it to two fifty for one of my best customers.”

The way Luca pandered to him almost made him feel a little ill: there was nothing to kill the mood quicker than his leering smile and the gravelly Italian voice that dripped with deceit. “What if I want him until closing?”

“That’s going to set you aside a pretty penny, depending on who you want.” He reasoned. “One of my new boys will set you back about a grand for the whole evening.”

Jim paused for a moment at the thought of gambling such money, but knew he couldn’t afford to be frightened: he was a gambling man. They were expecting a ten thousand payment, and he wanted Freddie for the evening. “Three thousand.” He replied. “For one of your more experienced boys.”

“That’s a deal.” He agreed. “I’d prefer it if you gave the money to me in advance, because we’ve had some problems with boys taking money that isn’t theirs.”

Jim took the money from his wallet and handed it over, standing up. “Call me a line-up, and make it quick.”

He took his time straightening his collar and making his way into the main hall, enough time for most of the boys to have gathered by the mirrors in varying states of disarray and debauchery. One wore a jockstrap, another wore lacy lingerie, another wore leather and the last looked a little more palatable in boxers and a t-shirt, comfy and homelike. He waited for a moment until Freddie appeared at the back, the runt of the litter, small and sweet and shy with sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes and a new red mark on his throat.

“Please don’t introduce yourselves-” Jim waved his hand, looking pained at the idea of having to spend any more time in such a setting. “I’ll take that one.” He gestured at Freddie, but he locked his eyes with Luca’s, daring him to challenge such a large amount of money.

He didn’t. “Baby, you’re up.” He said, internally furious when Freddie stumbled over sleepily to offer him a shy smile and a hand to his room. “Why don’t you go on ahead, Mr. Hutton, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure you know this place like the back of your hand.” He smiled warmly, making sure he wasn’t in eyeshot before grabbing Freddie’s wrist. “Don’t fuck this up.” He warned. “Anything he wants, you do, I don’t give a shit about your conditions. He wants to fuck you, you let him fuck you. Understood?”

Even though Freddie knew it was Jim, he was safe, no one would try and pressure him into what he wasn’t ready for for the next half hour, his heart pounded unsurely. If they’d been at home, he would’ve curled up close to Jim and slept for another few hours but here, with money on his side, Freddie feared it would be a new side to him that he wasn’t ready for. “Yes, sir.” Freddie replied quietly, wincing at the backhand he got across the face for the impertinence of using the wrong title. “I-” He looked up, a little tearful, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be sad if Jim was paying lots of money for him. “Yes, daddy.” He whispered.

“Pull yourself together.” Luca pushed him towards the door. “Big smile, baby, knock him dead.”

* * *

Jim couldn’t imagine ever having sex in a room like this; although he’d frequented the establishment before he’d met Freddie, he’d slept with men in his car or elsewhere in the building, never in their private rooms. It was obviously curated to fit Freddie’s personality, soft blankets and pink pillows and a light cherry print on the walls, but it felt so unbelievably wrong. Freddie wasn’t pinks and purples, he was reds and blues, exciting silk tapestries, gold and silver and emerald and ruby.

“Hey-” He said, as soon as Freddie came through the door. “Hey, darling, lock the door and come here.” He held out his arms, and Freddie curled up against him, shivering in the evening air. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.” Freddie whispered. “I fucked up, I- I didn’t know what to do.”

“You were frightened, darling, no one will blame you for that.” He sat back on Freddie’s bed, the man straddling his lap with his face tucked away against his neck. He reached into a drawer beside his bed and found a mass of red and gold silk, one of the old shirts he’d worn around the wagon, and draped it carefully over his shoulders; he felt Freddie seize in panic.

“I’m not allowed it around customers.” He whispered. 

“I don’t care.” Jim kissed his temple. “I’m your customer tonight, which means we can do whatever we want. And I want to warm you up, because you’re freezing.”

“I should’ve stayed at home.” Freddie whispered. “I’m just so scared of everything and I’m scared of you and I’m scared of him and I’m scared that you don’t really love me and I’ll end up back here anyway and then I’m scared if you do love me and I come back to be with you he’ll put a bullet in my head.”

“Don’t worry about coulds or shoulds now.” Jim rubbed his back lightly. “Do you want to be here?”

“Yes.” Freddie replied automatically. “I mean, yes, but no, but really yes-”

“What do you do here?” Jim questioned. “Aside from having sex?”

“Sleep.” Freddie murmured. “We’re on call twenty-four hours, but most people come between ten and six.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Jim asked, trying to get to the bottom of his mixed feelings.

“Yes.” Freddie said honestly. “I like it when I’m good. When I sell well I can give him lots of money and then I get days off and good treatment and I enjoy sex more because I’m not so tired.”

“Is that how it’s been recently?” He traced the marks on Freddie’s throat.

“Well- no.” Freddie conceded. “I’ve been bad, so he’s been disciplining me a lot. It’s nothing bad, he’ll just strike you backhand unless you really fuck up, and then he’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Jim carefully tilted his face up. “You don’t get a black eye from a backhand.” He murmured. “Has he beaten you?”

Freddie shook his head. “No, not really, just a little when I was robbed a few days ago.” He explained. “I lost a lot of money, it was my fault for being so careless.”

Jim sighed and kissed his forehead gently. “In an ideal world, if you weren’t scared of him, would you stay here?”

Freddie sighed, looking ashamed of himself. “No.” He admitted. “No, I’d go home.”

“Where’s home?” Jim questioned.

Suddenly, tears burned in Freddie’s eyes and the sight of it made Jim’s heart ache. “I don’t know.” He whispered. “I guess nowhere is home. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh, darling.” He whispered, holding him closely. “Where do you want to be home?”

“I just want a little house.” He said quietly. “Nothing big or stately, with a big garden where I can keep the vardo and the horses safe and I can take them out wherever I want.”

Hearing just how modest Freddie’s dreams were made something ache in Jim’s chest: they should’ve been so achievable, but he was stuck slaving away for one man or another for a couple of shillings a week and bed and board. “How much money do you have at the moment?”

“I had twenty pounds.” He said quietly. “But he shoved it down my throat, so I guess that’s pretty much ruined.”

Jim hugged him fiercely: he didn’t know what had happened to every fighting instinct he’d ever had, but that all seemed to soften around Freddie. “What if we got a place together? A little house in the country, three horses and a vardo in the garden?”

Freddie sniffed miserably and wiped his eyes. “I can’t afford it.”

“I’m not asking you to afford it.” Jim traced his thumb across the point of his cheekbone. “I’ll buy it as yours. No weapons or business allowed to go anywhere within its grounds.”

Their eyes quickly met, and Jim hadn’t seen him look so hopeful in a long time. “Really?”

“Really.” Jim leaned in and kissed him, just lightly, but he was encouraged by the way Freddie’s hand came up to cup his cheek readily. “I love you, Freddie, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.”

Freddie’s cheeks pinkened and he broke out into a little giddy smile. “I love you too.” He whispered. “How do I get out of here?”

“We could go all guns blazing, but I’m concerned that they’d just retaliate by trying to kill one or both of us.” Jim lay back on the bed, suddenly tired, and held his arm out for Freddie. “So if you can stomach it for a few more weeks, I’ll get the cash to buy you out. And then I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

Freddie had never seen anything more inviting than Jim in his bed, warm and strong- maybe, for the first time, he saw him as safe. He lay down beside him, forcing himself to keep his tired eyes open; his sessions were an hour, and there couldn’t be more than forty minutes left. Besides, Luca would surely do something hideous if he fell asleep on a client. 

“Why don’t you rest, darling?” Jim asked, petting Freddie’s hair. “We’ve got plenty of time, and you look tired.”

Freddie yawned but shook his head. “Session finishes in-” He looked up, and he was dismayed to see how much time they’d already used up. “Twenty-three minutes.”

“No it doesn’t.” Jim kissed his forehead and snuggled down with him, bringing the blanket over them both. “I paid for the evening, meaning we have-” He calculated it in his mind. “Ten hours. Well, nine and a half.” He conceded. “Which is plenty of time to sleep and talk again in the morning. I know I haven’t slept well without my baby.” 

The phrase echoed in Freddie’s mind as he fell asleep, but instead of hearing Luca, he heard Jim loud and clear, in his office back at home, sleep-mussed and affectionate and wanting his baby to come back to bed.


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to be active.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes so damn long to write because it's so unlike the others and then the chapters end up being really short!! Thank you to everyone for putting up with the inconsistency of this fic lmao

“Jim-” Freddie whispered; he was sat on the floor late at night in Luca’s office, blanket wrapped his shoulders, one candle giving him just enough light to see by. 

“Freddie?” He yawned. “Freddie, what is it, are you okay? Are you sick?” His voice was croaky and sounded sore, and Jim’s heart immediately swelled in his chest for him. It had been two and a half weeks since they had seen one another, and Jim had managed to scrape together around half of the money for his offer, working seemingly endless hours.

“I’m scared.” He murmured. “I’m scared of Luca, what he’s going to make me do, I need you to come and get me.”

“I don’t have the money yet, sweetheart.” Jim sighed. “I’m nearly there, darling, I promise.”

“He’s going to sell me.” Freddie murmured. “I had a client earlier, they were talking about thousands and thousands and me being moved across to America. I- I don’t want to go.” He whimpered. “I said I didn’t want to and he said I didn’t have a choice.”

“Shit.” Jim muttered. “You’re sure he meant moving you?”

“Yes.” He said insistently. “He said I’d make twice the money over there. He’s- he’s controlling me, I had to-” His cheeks burned with shame. “I had to suck him off to use the phone. I thought I was doing good.”

Jim stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m coming for you.” He said. “I’ll get you, and we’ll go out in the wagon, okay? I’ll take us into the forest and we’ll set up somewhere a little safer.”

“What should I do?” Freddie asked.

“Get dressed and pack as much as you can. If you can, get out a window without him knowing, and find out which room he’s in for me.” He ordered. “Hang in there.”

* * *

“How much, darling?” The man was drunk and leaned against the wall beside Freddie, inspecting his face. “I want the half-hour.”

“I’m not working.” Freddie replied, shaking fingers cupped around his cigarette as he lit it. 

“Oh, come on, baby.” His hand reached down and squeezed Freddie’s thigh. “I’ll slip you something. A twenty, some coke, whatever you want.”

“I’m not working.” Freddie repeated, shrugging his hand off of his shoulder and the other from his thigh. “I’m not your baby.”

“What’s your fucking problem?” He asked, voice getting louder; anxiety ate at Freddie’s heart when he knew he risked being caught because of an altercation. “I’m your fucking client.”

“You’re not my client.” He replied, standing up straighter: whenever he was working he had to be so subservient, yes sir and no sir and blushing at the slightest mention of anything lewd, but that wasn’t really him. He knew how to defend himself, he knew how to stand up for himself; years of whoring and fighting his way to the top had taught him strength. “And I’m not working. You’ll have to find someone else.”

He let out a startled gasp as he was shoved against the wall, hands immediately going for the fastening of his trousers. “Listen-” The man grunted, shoving him back with his shoulder when Freddie pushed against him. “You shut the fuck up, and I won’t tell Luca.”

“No!” Freddie shouted, dropping his cigarette and shoving against the man with all his might. “I’m not fucking going with you!”

He grabbed one of Freddie’s wrists and Freddie struggled against him, twisting and biting and kicking - he’d been in this situation too many times, and he knew how to fight even the biggest men - but he still screamed when the gunshot went off. 

“Come on-” Jim grabbed his wrist. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Freddie took his hand and ran beside him, sweaty and flustered and blood-stained. “What are you doing?” He whispered. 

“Where’s Luca?” Jim asked, ignoring his question, focused in on only one question. “I told you to find out.”

“He’s in Dan’s room.” Freddie said quickly. “It’s his turn.”

Listening to the practices that went on behind closed doors made him feel sick: he couldn’t believe he’d once willingly put money into that man’s hand. “How much do you care about Dan?”

“Dan’s his husband.” Freddie said. “So he’s my husband too.”

“What the hell does that mean, Freddie?” Jim asked. “Which room is it?”

Freddie pointed at a window. “Dan’s like- second in command.” He explained. “He’s the one that deals with all of us when Luca doesn’t want to. He keeps us in line. It was supposed to be me, but I- I messed up too much.” He murmured mournfully. 

“I’m glad you didn’t have anything to do with that shit.” He stopped outside the room and grabbed his gun again. “How much do you care about Dan?”

“I don’t- not much.” Freddie murmured. “I mean, don’t kill him, but-”

Jim pushed him onto the floor and crouched himself, shooting up to break the window. “What the fuck?” They heard from inside, Luca’s voice. “What the hell is going on out there?”

“I don’t know.” Dan propped himself up on his elbows. “Have a look.”

Luca got off the bed and walked over to the window, glass shattered nearby, and frowned. “Hole’s too neat. It’s a bullet.” He opened the window and looked out, squinting into the darkness.

It only took one careful shot of Jim’s gun under his chin and he slumped backwards, falling heavily on the floor behind him. “Done.” Jim murmured, taking Freddie’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”

Freddie felt dazed as he walked behind Jim to the horse: he’d never seen people die before, and he’d just had two killed for his sake. He felt numb as Jim picked him up and sat him up front, before taking a seat behind him and taking the reins. “It’s alright, darling.” He softened his voice as the horse started to walk. “I know it’s big, darling, I know it’s scary, I just need to keep you safe.”

* * *

Freddie’s energy that night was exhilarating; he lay back amongst the silk sheets of Jim’s bed, clean and warm and pampered, stomach full and finally, finally able to relax, and he smiled. “I feel free.” He smiled up at Jim, who was stood by the foot of the bed. 

“I’m glad.” Jim grinned, unbuttoning his waistcoat and laying out his rings on the desk. “Not too shaken?”

“I was at the time.” He conceded. “But I just- he made my life hell, really. I’ve spent every night thinking of you and when you’d come back for me.”

Jim pulled his shirt up and over his head and then flopped down next to Freddie, still half-dressed. He dropped a kiss on his lips and smiled, laying on his side to face him. “The times I slept I dreamed of you.” He murmured. “Kept you going in my memory. I tried to remember everything about how you felt, how you smelled, how you tasted when I kissed you.” He kissed him again, hand on his jaw. “It’s not as good as the real thing.”

“Oh, you romantic!” Freddie smiled. “I knew there was a romantic in that tough heart somewhere.”

Jim laughed and crawled over him, kissing him a little more firmly. “You’ve made me go soft, darling.” He grinned. 

“It’s an honour.” Freddie kissed back and held onto his hips, pulling him down as much as he could.

Jim broke the kiss momentarily, forehead resting against Freddie’s. “Are you sure?” He murmured.

“I’m sure.” Freddie kissed his lower lip a little deeper, a little more seductive. “Remind me what it’s like to enjoy it.”

* * *

Jim had never made love before; sex had been quick, contractual, something to satisfy his animalistic side. Sex had never been like that, gentle fingers and soft kisses and declarations of love, taking his time, never rushing. Freddie had wanted to be on the bottom, though he’d never done it before, and Jim had wanted to spend his time warming him up to it, showing him how good he could make his body feel.

His favourite part, though, was this. Freddie hadn’t come back up yet, was still floating in the feeling of weightlessness and mindlessness in his body, laying soft and relaxed against Jim’s chest. He’d cleaned him up and pulled the blankets up around them - he’d lost count of what ridiculous hour of the morning it was, but it was icy cold outside and he wanted to keep his lover warm. He combed his fingers through Freddie’s hair and kissed his forehead, carefully moving them further down the bed and dragging another blanket over the top of them when Freddie started to shiver.

“Jim?” He asked softly, and Jim involuntarily held him more tightly: he’d missed the sound of his name on sleep-weighted lips for so long.

“I’m here, darling.” He murmured against his hair. “I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Tension seemed to melt from Freddie’s body and he let out a little giddy smile. “I’m home.” Freddie murmured.

“Forever and always.” Jim kissed his head and smiled. “I’m never letting you go again.”

“I’m never going again.” Freddie yawned and turned around in his arms so that they were face-to-face. “I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.” Jim rested his hand on the small of Freddie’s back and smiled. “Welcome home.”


	11. Indelible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first time that they've been able to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm practicing writing more realistic dialogue at the moment and you can definitely tell - apologies for all the dialogue-heavy chapters recently! (Also please ignore the fact this is set in 1919 and permanent markers didn't exist until the 50s lmao)

They’d ridden for hours out of Birmingham, deep into the thickets of a forest to the east; Freddie had been drowsy from being woken so early and he’d gone to sleep in the vardo hours ago, bundled in silk as if he were Jim’s most precious treasure. Even now, as Jim straightened out the wagon, built the fire to start cooking and got the water boiling, Freddie was barely awake. Weeks with little sleep had worn him down over time, and he was taking his time to rest now that Jim was there to look after him.

He yawned and stepped down off the wagon, bare feet landing amongst thick grass. “Jim?” He murmured, still heavy with sleep. He wore a pair of his trousers and a shirt of Jim’s, lazy and undone, and his shirt moved with the wind as he sat beside the fire, looking around for the tub of tea that Jim most often kept nearby.

“Already done.” Jim held out an old china mug for him, filled the brim with warm tea. 

“That’s my job.” Freddie’s cheeks tinted pink but he took the mug gratefully, sipping at it. 

Jim sat beside him and wound an arm around his waist. “We’re not doing jobs and roles and anything like that.” He murmured. “You’re my lover, you’re not my subordinate. You don’t have to do jobs for me. You were sleeping, I was building the fire, I made you tea. I just- I just want to be normal with you.”

Freddie rested his head on Jim’s shoulder. “This wagon is bigger than the old one.” He murmured. “I like the bed, it’s much comfier. You’ve got nice blankets for it.”

“What do you think of the fireplace?” Jim questioned, running his fingers back and forth over Freddie’s arm. “Do you mind that the bed’s raised?”

“I love the fireplace.” Freddie smiled. “It’ll be good in the winter when we can’t keep the doors open or the rain’s beating out the fire out here. We can make tea indoors.” Freddie tucked his knees up to his chest. “I like that the bed’s raised, too, we have more places to store food or clothes or whatever.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Jim kissed his temple. “Because I bought it for you.”

Freddie gasped. “For me?”

“Well, I figured that I wouldn’t need that money to buy you out anymore, so I’d buy you something you wanted.” He smiled. “The horses are yours, too. I’ve had them trained.”

Freddie threw his arms around Jim and kissed him. “They’re really mine?”

“All yours, baby.” Jim smiled. “You can run away whenever you want to.”

Freddie straddled his lap and kissed him again. “What about if I want you to run away with me?”

“I’m sure I could find time in the diary for you, darling.” He cupped Freddie’s cheek and appreciated the softness of the skin beneath his fingers. “I’m going to cook for you tonight.”

“What are you cooking?” Freddie asked, taking his mug back up but remaining in his lap. 

“I shot a rabbit.” Jim trailed his fingers through his hair. “Stole a couple of vegetables from a farm on the way, too. I was just going to wrap them in tin foil and throw them on the fire and leave them to roast.”

“Sounds good.” Freddie smiled. “It’s been a long while since I ate something freshly caught. Luca gave us all this processed stuff, like army cans, and it was awful. It makes you feel so heavy and so lazy. We used to just eat it cold because we never had time to heat it up.”

“Tonight’s my treat.” Jim pecked his lips. “Crispy and tender rabbit and roasted veg.”

“You’ll have me salivating if you’re not careful.” Freddie grinned. “Why don’t I do some washing while you cook?”

“What needs washing?” Jim asked.

“Everything I’ve ever worn.” Freddie took his last mouthful of tea and stood up. “I can’t remember the last time I washed anything.”

“There’s a washboard and a bath under the bed.” Jim stood up behind him. “I’ll put dinner on.”

Though Freddie hated the laborious process of rubbing and squeezing washing powder through his clothes, working until his arms ached, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere better: Jim prepared the rabbit alongside him, talking the whole time and occasionally stealing kisses. It was this, this simple living, cooking and cleaning and living from the land that Freddie had missed the most since he’d left his family.

* * *

“What are you- wait!” Freddie laughed, leaping up onto the steps of the wagon. “What’s that?”

“It’s a permanent marker.” Jim smiled, looking up at his boyfriend. “Come back-” He reached for him but Freddie moved away, still giggling to himself. 

“What does it do?” He asked, stepping backwards when Jim stood up.

“You can draw on things and it doesn’t disappear for a long time.” He caught Freddie with an arm his waist and laughed as they fell on the bed together. “You’re not shy of a picture or two on you, come on.”

Freddie lay back on the bed and held out his arm. “Do you think I should get a whole sleeve?”

“I think that would be hot.” Jim grinned. “I want to draw a mandala on you. I designed the one on my chest, I’ll take good care of you.”

Freddie leaned up and pushed his shirt back off his shoulders. “It is gorgeous.” He smoothed his hand over Jim’s chest and pulled his shirt the rest of the way off. “You look better without it on.”

“Minx.” Jim laughed and lay beside him, taking his arm and carefully starting to draw. “I like that you still do the traditional things like tattoos and living out.”

“It’s how I was brought up.” Freddie smiled. “I got a lot of my tattoos after I left, actually. The rose I got while I was at home, and the finger tattoos, because they look like traditional Henna. My mother did them.” He explained. “But the one on my collarbone, that’s the symbol for independence and freedom, and I had that done the same week that I was kicked out. It hurt like a bitch, it was like a more productive way of deliberately hurting myself.” He shrugged. “I considered having the rose covered, but I think it’s too beautiful.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get the rose covered.” Jim kissed his hand lightly. “I think courting tattoos are beautiful. I wish I’d had one myself, but my marriage was always supposed to be arranged, so I didn’t have any kind of preference.” 

“Did you love Grace?” Freddie questioned as Jim took the design further up his arm. 

“No.” He conceded. “No, I wasn’t happy with her. I think she knew something wasn’t right because every time she mentioned children I used to cringe. It wasn’t because I don’t like children, but I-” His cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I couldn’t really get it up when I was with her. She just didn’t interest me like that.”

“Awkward when you’re engaged.” Freddie commented. “Why didn’t they arrange for you to get married to a guy?”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “Firstly, it’s illegal.”

“I don’t know a single person that’s gotten married legally.” Freddie scoffed. “The government made that shit too expensive.”

“We do it by the book.” Jim hummed. “I didn’t want to tell them I was gay. They still don’t know. You know, Luca knows, Grace probably suspects it, and that’s as far as I want it to go.”

Freddie propped himself onto his elbow so he could watch as Jim drew. “Why?”

“Because it’ll be all over the front page of the Express if I let it out.” He explained. “And they’ll send me to prison for it. They only took the death penalty away a few years ago.” He blew lightly on his arm to make the pen dry and watched as Freddie’s skin prickled. “And I’ve done well evading the law so far. If they get me on that, I’ll never get out.”

Freddie frowned. “I didn’t realise that was the law.” He said quietly. “I thought- I thought we were equal, because you just let me in so easily. You didn’t fight me, you didn’t tell me it was wrong, even though you must have known I was gay from that first night.”

“You knew I was.” Jim pointed out. “It took you two minutes to suss me out. Gay, Romani and a disgraced Catholic. It would be hypocritical for me to turn you away because you like men.”

Freddie’s cheeks pinkened. “Why doesn’t it bother you that you might go to prison?” He asked shyly. “I mean, if I wasn’t in love with you and I’d found that out, I- maybe I would’ve stayed celibate.” He looked down. “Is that why Luca was so secretive with us?”

“Secretive?” Jim questioned.

“He used to take you all into a room and question you before you saw us. He’d check that you were who you said you were, that you were paying, that you weren’t some undercover crusher trying to get us. He never did that shit for the girls.” Freddie explained, biting his lip. In the back of Jim’s mind, it made sense: he’d assumed it was part of the formality, but it was understandable that he’d screen his clients. “Why doesn’t it bother you?” He asked again.

“My darling-” Jim capped the pen and put it to the side, before laying beside Freddie. “I have broken a lot of laws in my time. I have stolen, I have robbed, I have shot, I have killed, I have used prostitutes, I have taken hostages, I have killed women, the list goes on. You’re the best law I’ve ever broken.” He leaned forward and kissed him lightly. “You’re the most worthwhile law I’ve ever broken. You’re the law I’d break a thousand times over.”

Freddie’s cheeks pinkened. “I never thought I was a law breaker.” He murmured. “I guess I am. I used to work the streets near the barracks, back when I first came to England, because the war had just finished and all the men were frustrated. I suppose that’s illegal too.”

“I fought in the war.” Jim murmured. “Victoria Barracks, Windsor. We had boys that did the same in the park outside the gates.”

“Did you ever go to them?” Freddie asked.

“Sometimes.” He nodded. “Especially when it got dark early. Some of the boys, you couldn’t see their faces, but they couldn’t have been older than fifteen. They were starving during the war and too young to fight, it’s all they could do. The women got all the factory work.”

“I started when I was fifteen.” He murmured. “We were in Iran at the time, and there was a beautiful bracelet at the market that I wanted, so I stood around on street corners until someone paid me for my mouth. The work wasn’t so good there, there wasn’t much want for a boy doing it. When we moved to Hungary, when I was seventeen, that’s when it really kicked off. That’s when I started getting guys approaching me as soon as I stepped onto my track, I stopped having to wait around.”

“How long were you in England before you came to me?” Jim asked, stroking his hair.

“Three weeks.” Freddie smiled bashfully. “The work was good, but it’s getting colder outside every night and I couldn’t get a good patch going. Maybe if I’d gone to London I could’ve gotten one.”

“And how did you meet Luca?” Jim questioned.

“I met Luca in Italy.” Freddie explained. “We went to Hungary, then Italy, then France, and then I came to England. I lived in Italy when I was nineteen for a year, and I worked for him down there. We sell well to Italian men, there’s more business. They’re more open about their sexuality.”

“Was he good to you in Italy?” Jim lay on his back and took one of Freddie’s hands, squeezing it, suddenly wishing they could see the stars.

“As good as a pimp can be.” Freddie conceded. “I mean, he kicked my ass if I disappointed clients, and he can give a good beating, but most of the time he was okay. He didn’t make us work such long hours back then, and we got holiday and sick pay. It was almost like a real job.”

“Did you like working for him?” He traced the petals of Freddie’s rose absentmindedly.

“Not much anymore.” Freddie murmured. “I’ve been doing the same job for seven years. You know, when I was pouring whiskey and stout in your bar, it was a refreshing change. I was socialising with people in a way that wasn’t totally just about my body. Occasionally I’d get a hello, a good afternoon, a please and a thank you or a how are you or a silly anecdote from the day. I liked that.” He smiled. “I liked the secretary work, too. No one’s ever really used my brain before.”

“You’re the only one in the family who can write.” Jim chuckled. “We need you around.”

“Can you really not write?” Freddie looked over at him. “Like, at all?”

Jim shook his head. “Not one letter.” He chuckled. “That’s probably a lie. I can do some rudimentary reading, enough to know that you’re not mugging me off in my letters, but I have a boy read everything and check it for me. I just- I don’t know how you hold a pen.” He stretched his hands out overhead. “How you control you and make it go into all those funny little letters.”

“Couldn’t you use a typewriter?” Freddie questioned. “I could teach you.”

“Then you’ll put yourself out the job.” Jim chuckled. “I’d make a fool of myself. I’d mix things up and write letters backwards.”

“That’s why you use the typewriter!” Freddie rolled his eyes. “It shows you all the letters to choose from, and you just have to string them together.”

“How the hell do you know how to string things together, though?” Jim asked. “I don’t know how to spell. I can just about spell my first name, but don’t ask me how to spell Hutton.”

“How do you think it’s spelled?” Freddie challenged, wanting to see how rudimentary his knowledge really was.

“H-u-t-u-n.” Jim spelled out, cheeks colouring when he saw Freddie’s face. “See! I told you. I can’t spell for toffee.” He reached for his cigarettes and stood up, taking Freddie’s hand. “That’s why I’ve got you, angel. You can be the clever one.”

Freddie laughed as Jim lit his cigarette from the end of his own. They sat out on the steps and Freddie let his toes brush through the grass, smiling to himself. “I feel young again.” 

“That’s because you are.” Jim kissed his temple. “The young, pretty, clever one.”

“Young, pretty and clever?” Freddie asked, exaggerating the ‘and’ with a cocky grin. “I suppose I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also apologies if you're vegan but I'm afraid they are living off the land so they must hunt

**Author's Note:**

> I love you all and comments/kudos/general love is always appreciated!
> 
> Also, just a note for people asking - yes, Inanition has been deleted.


End file.
